The Perfect Fit
by Jasmine2009
Summary: Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo is identified as the perfect fit for a special project. One thing leads to another and before long he's put in a very dangerous situation.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Perfect Fit

Author: Jasmine2009 (aka Jasmine)

Date Started: October 3, 2012

Date Published: October 11, 2015

Universe: Season 9

Rate: PG-13

Summary: Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo is identified as the perfect fit for a special project. One thing leads to another and before long he's put in a very dangerous situation.

Author's note: The birth of this story came about because of a single scene that I had banging around inside my head for a very long time (I'll identify it in the story). Once I built the story up so I could plausibly incorporate this particular scene, I was sort of done writing. However, it became evident that the story was far from being done (as most of them take on a life of their own). This is the point where it became unwieldy, so I stopped writing on it for a couple of years hoping inspiration would return. It did, so to my loyal readers and any new ones, I hope you find this interesting, sometimes fun, typo free (mostly), and void of plot holes.

Warnings: Mild language, use of "Tiva" in the same way the series does, and slight reference to one of my earlier stories, "World Class".

*************************************8

Gibbs knitted his brow and stared briefly off to the side. The conversation he was currently engaged in was so absurd that he needed a moment to think. Slowly, he returned his gaze back to the man seated across from him and said, "What?"

Fornell smiled. He hadn't realized just how much he was going to enjoy his visit to NCIS on this dreary Monday morning; if he had, he might have done it eons earlier. His colleague, Agent Ron Sacks, wasn't having nearly as much fun, but Tobias didn't care. Nor did he care that neither the Director of NCIS nor his ex-wife's former husband were enjoying it, because he was. And immensely. Plastering on his best I‑have‑the‑upper‑hand grin, he repeated, "We'd like to requisition one of your people."

"I heard that part," Gibbs said. "What I don't understand is the WHO part and the WHY part?"

Agent Sacks shifted, his anxiety easily discernible as he didn't share his boss's confidence.

Fornell gave Gibbs an amused glance before answering, "The WHO part is simple: Special Agent Anthony DiNotzo; the WHY part may take a while."

Vance leaned back and clasped his hands across his belly, "We have the time."

Fornell raised his brows, weighing his options: To bluntly state his intentions may push them away; however, to continue in this evasive manner may piss them off. What this called for was a happy medium. "Okay," Fornell said, pausing briefly before leaning forward and relishing the moment. "We're getting ready to run an operation that requires an agent with a specific skill set. We did our usual query at the FBI using our very own DC field agents, like we always do, but we didn't get any matches. That's not too terribly unusual, so we expanded our search to include all east coast agents. Again, we didn't get any matches. That _is_ a little unusual. So we opened the query to all FBI field agents in the United States. The closest match we got came from our Kansas City field office."

Impatiently, Gibbs interrupted, "What does this have to do with my agent?"

"I'm getting to that, Jethro. You have to be patient."

"That's not exactly my best quality."

Fornell smiled again, knowing he'd better get to the point before Leroy Jethro Gibbs walked out. "The agent in Kansas City is a good match, just not a perfect match. That's when our guys starting inputting the resume of agents from other federal agencies."

"You've got nothing better to do with your work force than data entry?" Vance asked.

"As a matter of fact, we have an entire department devoted to doing just that. After last year's debacle, code named 'Forrest Gump', we take the prelims of a case much more seriously. I don't have to tell you what the right match can do for a covert operation: higher conviction rates, fewer casualties, shorter op time. The list goes on and on, so if the heads of espionage agencies across the country can understand why we take this preliminary setup so seriously, I'm sure the Director of NCIS can."

Vance understood those stats intimately. Even though he wasn't in that sort of business anymore, he appreciated the effort that went into them. A well planned and executed mission could have its rewards; a poorly planned one could be devastating, not only to an agency's reputation, but to the men and women directly involved.

"And your machine thingy just happened to pop out the name DiNozzo?" Gibbs said. " _My_ DiNozzo."

"Not exactly the way I would put it, but you get the gist."

Gibbs shook his head, "I don't even need to hear your reasons, Fornell. The answer's no. I'm not turning over my senior agent to the FBI to run some operation that no one else seems qualified for."

Tobias leaned back again, relaxed. He held all the cards, and he knew it. But he didn't like forcing these kinds of things, especially with these kinds of men. He found that if everyone bought into the idea, and he was able to get everyone on board, then everything ran that much better. Unfortunately, Ron Sacks didn't share his understanding of human nature and he caught just the hint of a sneer as it lifted the corner of Sacks' mouth.

And so did Gibbs, who leaned in and said, "What are you doing, Tobias?"

Annoyed with Sacks, Fornell relaxed his body language and sat up, "I'm trying to put together the best agents for a job."

"That's not what Agent Sacks is telling us," Vance said, sending the young FBI agent into an uncomfortable tailspin.

"I didn't say anything!"

Fornell addressed his subordinate, "Will you wait for me outside?"

The young, and still un-seasoned, FBI agent looked startled at the request. "But—"

Much like his NCIS counterpart, Fornell had mastered The Glare. Sacks reluctantly stood, straightened his jacket and left the room.

"Look, Jethro," Fornell began, initiating damage control, "if it wasn't so damn important, I would have gone with the agent in Kansas City, but this is big, and I don't have any choice."

"There's always a choice," Gibbs growled.

"Just hear me out," Fornell said, still believing that it's far better to get them to buy into the deal than to slam them with it. "This is a win/win scenario for the FBI, NCIS, and, believe it or not, the CIA. We got a Mafia Don laundering money through a chain of car dealerships which are known covers for terrorists cells, which are headquartered in—of all places—Peoria. The money tracks back and forth through Baltimore, where we think there's at least a dirty cop or two looking the other way. After all that, the money is transferred to an off shore account in the Caribbean, where it's cleaned, and then returned to the United States via the same car dealerships."

"And just how is this a win/win scenario?" Vance asked.

"The FBI takes down the Mafia, the CIA closes down a sleeper cell, and NCIS gets to share in the credit."

Gibbs suppressed a grunt, then got up and walked towards the door. He actually chuckled when he turned the knob. "Fornell?" he began, "I have to hand it to you. It takes a pair to come in here with a request like that."

"Wait a minute, Jethro, you haven't heard the best part."

"And what would that be?"

"Your Secretary of the Navy approved it. We have NCIS's full cooperation."

Leon Vance's jaw stiffened; sometimes he felt Clayton Jarvis overstepped his boundaries. "I don't think so."

Fornell pulled an envelope from his inside breast pocket and handed it to him.

Leon opened it and read it, twice. His blank expression all but told Gibbs it was no joke. Leon summarized the main points: "Any resources the FBI wants, NCIS is to provide, including personnel." As he folded it and stuffed it back into its envelope, he stated, "And you want DiNozzo."

"Yep, I want DiNotzo."

Gibbs slammed the door and strode back over in front of his Director's desk. "You can't be seriously thinking about handing him over?"

"I don't have much of a choice."

"Yeah, you do, Leon. We don't work this way."

"This piece of paper says we do." Vance pursed his lips together and faced the FBI agent. He resented the SECNAV pulling rank, he resented the FBI sending field agents to inform him of this plan, and he resented the very agent they wanted for a multitude of reasons, but he had to push all that aside right now. "I want in the loop; I want Agent Gibbs and his team to be involved as much as you are, and the first sign of the mission going south, I want my agent fully protected. Is that understood?"

Fornell had nothing to lose by agreeing to the Director's demands; after all, the requests were simply standard protocol, and he had every intention of involving NCIS and protecting their very special asset. What he couldn't do right now was bring himself to look at Gibbs.

Instead, he deliberately placed the letter back inside his breast pocket.

******************************8

The problem with drinking coffee is it's a lot like drinking beer in that it requires numerous visits to the head. Gibbs prided himself on his ability to resist the urge every hour, but this morning was different. This morning, he had to deliver the news to DiNozzo that he was being turned over to the FBI, like a piece of evidence. Then, he has to step aside while his senior agent infiltrates a growing Mafia presence on the East Coast, gathers intel on a known terrorist group, and tries to keep himself alive, all the while reporting to a different agency. Not the way to start any morning, much less a dreary one.

He washed his hands and left. He could see Fornell and Sacks talking to Ziva and McGee, and he could also see Tony's vacant desk. It was Monday and Tony was never on time on Mondays. Gibbs overlooked the indiscretion because his senior field agent worked smarter than anyone else he knew, and when he played, he played smarter too, and sometimes there was a collision of sorts between the two. So on Mondays, he looked the other way, never questioning what he'd been doing or why he was late.

"Where is he?" Sacks asked, still stinging from his earlier dismissal.

"He'll be here," Gibbs replied, making his way to his desk.

Impatiently, he continued, "We were hoping to get started this morning. He has a lot of work to do to get ready."

Ziva perked her ears up. "Get ready? Get ready for what?"

"Tony's going to work with the FBI on a case," Gibbs answered.

Both McGee and Ziva stared, processing the statement. Ziva finally got her wits about her and asked, "Does he know this?"

"Not yet."

"What is he going to do?"

When no one answered her, she pressed, "Well? Why is he being transferred to the FBI? He is an NCIS agent, not an FBI agent!"

"It's classified," Sacks responded.

Gibbs had hoped Sacks would screw up again and make a mistake, but he actually thought it would take longer than ten minutes. Fornell realized it the minute the words spewed from his agent's lips and knew Gibbs was lying in wait for just such an opportunity to pounce. In the split second afterwards, Fornell weighed the pros and cons of intervening, but if Sacks was going to mature as an agent, he'd have to learn how to deal with the likes of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, so he stood back and watched.

Standing, Gibbs quietly toned, "What did you say?"

Startled, Sacks wasn't completely sure what he'd done. But he was just proud enough to stand a little straighter. "I-I said the information is classified."

"From who?"

Sacks scratched the imaginary itch on the back of his neck and straightened up. Fornell watched, feeling a little sorry for him, and wondering when he became so soft on his own agents.

Sacks stammered, "I—We were given orders that the mission is Top Secret," and he looked to his boss for affirmation.

Fornell decided to help the man out if for no other reason than Gibbs would eat him alive and spit out the bones. Or, if Gibbs deferred his dirty work to the former Mossad officer, she would quite possibly torture the information out of him. Agent McGee, on the other hand, would simply circumvent the FBI agent and hack straight into his computer and find out what he needed to know. Sacks had much to learn about inter-agency cooperation. "What Agent Sacks is trying to say is we will be giving all agencies involved a full and detailed briefing when the time's right. But first, we have to get the individual players lined up, read-in, and trained. Agent DiNotzo is one of our players."

The elevator dinged and there was the playful sound of Tony conversing with one of the younger administrative assistants. It was evident by her voice that she found him attractive and funny and perhaps a bit larger than life seeing as he was a senior field agent who carried a gun. The conversation sounded like it was going exceedingly well until Tony saw Fornell and Sacks staring at him. If that wasn't bad enough, Ziva, McGee and even Gibbs were also staring. In less than two sentences, he brushed off the young woman and approached his desk. Looking straight at Ron Sacks, he said, "The last time I saw you, you were attempting to strangle me. Any new developments with finding your world class thief?"

Still stinging from his earlier mistake, Sacks deferred to his boss, but Fornell deferred to Gibbs.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"You're being temporarily loaned to the FBI for an assignment."

Tony started to laugh, "That's funny, Boss." He only stopped laughing when he realized he was the only one finding it amusing. "You're kidding me, right?"

Gibbs walked over to him, taking up a position exceedingly close to his subordinate. Even though Tony's personal space was being breached, Gibbs stood comfortably, looking directly into his agent's blue eye. "Orders, Tony, directly from the SECNAV," he whispered. "Go with them…for now. Do what they ask…for now. Let me see what I can do from my end…for now. Got it?"

Tony wasn't sure what he was supposed to get. Three minutes ago he was closing a deal with Angie, something he understood. Now, he was about to leave NCIS with two FBI agents he didn't particularly care for, to do God-knows-what for who-knows-why and for how long? What started out as a great morning was quickly spiraling into one of the worst. For a fleeting moment, he considered the potential of this being some sort of practical joke, but he knew from his boss' expression, Ziva and McGee's, and even Fornell and Sacks' expressions that this was anything but a joke.

He nodded, dutifully—if not skeptically—at his boss.

********************************8

"For being an end of the week celebration, no one looks particularly festive," Dr. Mallard commented as he approached the table where Team Gibbs sat. The bar had been dimly lit and the crowd had seemed particularly thick on this Friday evening.

Abby smiled and replied, "We're sorry, Ducky, it's just that we miss Tony. And what's worse is we don't even know where he is or how long he'll be gone."

Ducky sat down in the only vacant chair and agreed, "I miss him, too. He did fill my autopsy room with a measure of levity that was more often than not lost on my guests, but never on me."

Abby agreed, "He filled my lab with oddball statements that gave me great ideas for tests."

"He filled the squad room with movie references and politically incorrect statements," Ziva added with a touch of yearning in her voice.

"He mostly just insulted me," McGee said, despondently.

"Me, too," Jimmy said, knowing the insults were the agent's way of showing affection.

"Has anyone heard from him?" Dr. Mallard asked.

There was a slow but silent shaking of heads. Ziva said, "Gibbs has not said anything either. No matter how much I ask, he tells me to drop it."

"He's been pretty tight lipped about it, that's for sure," McGee said, taking a swallow of beer.

Hoping to change the subject, Ducky asked, "Well, then, how's the latest case coming? I hear you've found the murderer?"

"After three weeks, we should have," Ziva said. "I used to think that Tony's contributions to solving our cases were annoying, at best, but now I'm beginning to think that he always knew more than he led on."

"I know exactly what you mean, Ziva!" Abby said. "Like when Tony would come down to the lab and make some off the wall comment about my forensics. I didn't realize just how much those comments helped me focus my work."

"Same here," McGee added. "For someone who claims he's not a computer geek, he sure uses a lot of logical computer geek thinking to come up with answers."

"I would never admit this to Gibbs," Ziva said, "but Tony's insights—now that we don't have them-are way more valuable than I ever gave him credit for."

"I'm sure Gibbs already knows it," McGee said.

"Yes, he is an integral part of the team," Ducky agreed, "but he'll be back soon and business will return to normal."

There was a moment when everyone perked up a notch, hopeful that the doctor's statement was more than wishful thinking. But the moment was fleeting and soon everyone returned to their drinks and small talk, unaware of the suffering their handsome colleague was facing.

***************************8

Tony vomited into the trashcan. He thought he was done with this kind of reaction weeks ago when the physical demands placed on his body had first begun; obviously, he'd been mistaken.

"Can't take it anymore, DiNozzo!" the no-neck jar-head yelled in his ear. "I was told you were the best! I find that hard to believe! DiNozzo. I think I'm gonna start calling you De Not So, as in DE-NOT-SO Great!

Tony had wanted to respond, but another gut wrenching spasm racked his body and he thrust his head back into the trashcan.

"Get your sorry ass back out here! You call yourself an agent! You must be one of those candy-ass N-C-I-S agents that I hear about! The paper pushing, ass-kissing, bureaucratic dumb-shits that get to carry a gun! For that, you walk around thinking your shit don't stink! Well, I got news for you—"

The next thing Tony knew he was being manhandled back out onto the obstacle course. There was no use fighting the guy as he had three more inches and at least 40 more pounds of lean muscle behind him to enforce anything and everything he'd wanted. Besides, he had already tried. He'd gone through the rebellious stage, which got him nowhere, and he'd even tried to use humor at one point, but that only made it worse. He couldn't believe that Gibbs was allowing this. Where the Hell was he? He felt like he was back at boarding school dealing with the headmaster who had permission to do just about anything he wanted to the boys under his patronage. And all Tony had ever wanted was to go home.

Just like now.

Fornell observed the proceedings from the tower, like he'd done every day since Gibbs handed the agent over. There were few truths in life he knew better than the ones pertaining to Gibbs. For example, he knew that if something were to happen to Anthony DiNozzo, Gibbs would have Fornell's head. You don't mess with his people, and you especially don't mess with this one. Like Kate's killer, he wouldn't stop until the SOB responsible was dead, which led him to the reason he was standing in a cold tower overseeing the agent's training.

"How's he doing?" Agent Sacks pushed out, breathing heavily from climbing the steps to the forty foot high platform.

"Sounds like you could use some of his training."

Ignoring the comment, Sacks caught his breath and said, "I have that report you asked for. It wasn't easy to get, but after I insinuated that I had pictures of him with the lab technician and they might accidentally get sent to his wife, he was more than cooperative."

Fornell sighed, wondering if the agent was ever going to learn the art of finesse to get the things he wanted. "Are we ready to go with Phase 2?"

"Yes. After DiNozzo finishes his physical conditioning, we're ready to go with his mental conditioning."

"So we're pretty much on schedule," Fornell mumbled to himself, not expecting an answer.

"Yes, we're right on schedule."

Tobias paced around a bit, then stopped and said, "He's been asking to talk to Gibbs. I think it's time."

"But I thought we agreed that wouldn't be a good idea, at least not until he's finished Phase 2 of his training."

"Yes, but Gibbs has been making waves, too. I think we had better release some of the pressure that's building."

"All right. I'll set it up. How about tonight, after he eats?"

Fornell nodded.

*************************8

In the dimly lit basement, Gibbs sanded the ribs of the boat he was building, stirring up the sawdust and making it difficult to breath. He often thought he should wear a mask, but if the things he'd already done in life hadn't killed him, why should he worry about a little dust. His ringing phone interrupted his thoughts and his stomach quavered when he saw the name on the display. He studied it a moment before flipping it open, "Tony."

"Hey, Boss."

"How are you?"

There was a short pause as Tony was thinking of the best reply, "Remember that old tv commercial for the Army, 'We do more before 9am than most people do all day'? Well, the FBI should adopt it."

Gibbs smiled. It was good to hear his agent's voice.

"Hey, Boss, when am I getting out of here?"

"You're working a case for them now, DiNozzo."

"But I haven't been told anything. Do you know what they want me to do?"

Gibbs bobbled his head slowly, but remained silent.

"You know, but you can't say."

"Not smart to say over the phone. No one's told you anything?"

"Nope. I get yelled at and screamed at a lot, but nobody just talks to me. And I haven't seen Fornell or Slacks in weeks."

"You still in training?"

"If that's what you want to call it. I'm gonna start something new tomorrow, which is why I think they let me make a phone call tonight. You do realize that my living conditions strongly resemble that of a prison."

Gibbs let out a small chuckle. He missed his agent. He missed his quips, and his remarks, and his brain. "They taking care of you, DiNozzo."

"For the most part. Hey, Boss? Any chance of Ziva or McGee getting visitation rights?"

"I doubt it."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Gibbs waited, but the silence lingered. Tony was still there, feeling insecure and lonely, but silent, until he quipped, "Okay, then. When you find something out, give me a call."

"I'll do that. And Tony, watch your six."

"Always."

Gibbs closed his phone and stared at the hull of his boat, clearly not seeing it. Fornell had repeatedly assured him that his agent was okay, and Tony did indeed sound okay, but there was something missing in his voice. Something Gibbs couldn't put his finger on, but Tobias knew better than to mess with his agent. The question that concerned Gibbs was: Is Fornell the one in charge? He trusted Fornell, but could he be certain that Fornell was the one calling the shots at the Bureau?

"Tobias, I hope you know what you're doing," he said to the boat in his basement.

************************************8

Fornell stood behind the one-way mirror and watched DiNozzo work. He took test after test and never managed to get below a perfect score. He was truly an amazing man with more talent in his left hand than most agents had in their entire bodies. He just had a knack for this sort of thing. His brain worked on a multitude of levels simultaneously and when he was focused, there truly wasn't anything he couldn't master.

Sacks read the reports and concluded, "He's ready for the final test."

"Give it to him."

"Agent DiNozzo," he said into a microphone from behind the mirror, "Agent Gordon is going to give you a laptop. You are to access the NCIS intranet."

After some grumbling about how he wasn't McGee, he exhaled and then proceeded to hack into the intranet of one of the most secure networks in the country. Sacks grumbled, "He's better than we originally thought."

"He's a master at deceit. You don't learn these skills as an adult. My guess is he learned them all before his voice changed."

"Maybe," Sacks sneered, "but I think there's a thin line between good and bad, and as far as I'm concerned, I'm not too sure which side of that line Agent DiNozzo falls on."

Fornell pondered the comment. He had always believed that DiNozzo's abilities were a little suspect, and he figured Gibbs thought the same, but he also believed that it was those abilities that made him one of the best agents at NCIS. What Fornell wished for was that he had more Agent DiNozzo's on his staff, and fewer Agent Sacks', but, he bemused, handling one Anthony DiNozzo was hard enough as it was and it took up all his energy and time to do it.

Sacks interrupted his thoughts and said, "Whatever the reason, he's ready. He's passed all the physical training and mental acuity tests that we've thrown at him. He's about as ready as he's going to get."

It took Tobias a full minute to respond. Could there be such a thing as too ready? Not in this business. "Okay, it's time. Gather all agencies and we'll read everyone in."

************************************8

"Let's go," Gibbs said to his team.

Ziva looked up, "Go where?"

"Conference room."

Ziva shot McGee a look that expressed her confusion, but his furrowed brows told her that he was just as perplexed.

"C'mon! Ducky and Abby are waiting."

Inside the orange conference room, more chairs had been brought in. Abby and Ducky sat along the perimeter of the room, leaving the chairs at the table for others. Abby mouthed to McGee, "What's going on?"

He shrugged and shook his head, "I wish I knew," he whispered back. He took a chair at the table and Ziva sat down next to him. Director Vance sat at the head of it with a file in front of him, opened. His hands were neatly folded across his buttoned jacket and he sat silently as his people entered. His jaw clenched sporadically, indicating he was on the unhappy side of the mood scale. His secretary was offering coffee, which was unusual because the room had always been a self-serve sort of set-up, but she did her job efficiently and readied cups for anyone who asked. McGee had been the only one who had taken her up on her offer and he graciously thanked her. Abby had already come with a Caf-Pow and Ducky didn't usually feed his system with more than one cup of caffeine a day. Ziva didn't like the brew nearly as much as her American born colleagues, preferring a hot cup of tea instead. Gibbs also declined, but when she left, he took a Styrofoam cup and filled it himself. Cheap black coffee may be the only good thing to come out of this room today, he thought.

When the door opened again, his secretary announced, "Director Vance? The CIA liaison is here."

"Send him in."

When Trent Kort walked through the door, the occupants didn't bother trying to conceal their surprise.

Kort smirked, "I know this is a shock, but you can close your mouths now. I have managed to work my way back into the good graces of the powers that be."

"I don't believe that for a minute," Vance replied.

"Then you have become wiser over the years, Director. The truth is my superiors know that I have dealt with NCIS extensively in the past and in particularly with Agent DiNozzo. My skill set makes me the best CIA liaison for the job."

"Your skill set should have gotten you fired," Gibbs said.

"And yet… here I am," he quipped. "As much as it went against the better judgment of my Director, even he had to concede that my area of expertise on a long term op was far more valuable than any grudge he might have against me."

"So you're going to be working on this with us?"

"Only so far as the mission falls within the scope of the CIA's purview."

Gibbs sniggered, "So you're really here to make sure we don't screw up any CIA plans."

"Yes."

The door opened again and his secretary announced, "Director Vance? Agents Fornell and Sacks are here."

"Send them in."

Fornell entered first. As he washed his eyes over the room at its near full capacity, he saw just how expectantly they stared at him, and then past him in anticipation. "Good morning, Director Vance, Gibbs, Kort. We have a lot of information to disseminate so I'd like to dispense with the small talk and get started."

Ziva looked anxiously at the door as Sacks closed it behind him, and then she looked to her boss for an explanation. Gibbs, who was still leaning on the window sill, said, "Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"Agent DiNotzo is being brought over by Agent Dalton," Fornell explained. "Until he arrives, I suggest we use this time to determine turf. As you are well aware, we're running this mission as a joint operation among all three agencies. The Secretary of the Navy, the Director of the FBI, and the Head of the CIA have all agreed that the mission is important enough to warrant a cooperative effort. That being said, we can't afford to have pissing wars once this gets off the ground."

Vance tilted his head like he was listening intently to everything being said. But the facts were, DiNozzo was _his_ man and if they had a prayer of avoiding turf wars, a whole lot of concessions were going to have to be made—concessions that accommodated NCIS. If the truth be told, they'd not only have to satisfy his agency, but they'd have to appease Gibbs, a feat he was looking forward to witnessing.

Leon has seen firsthand what one of these so-called joint ops could do to a man. If the agent made it out alive (and that was a big IF), he was often so messed up that he wished he hadn't made it. And Leon shuddered to think what Gibbs and the rest of his team would do if either of those two outcomes were to occur. And if by chance DiNozzo did make it out alive and emerged unscathed and successful, then, just like children grappling for presents under a Christmas tree, he'd be snatched up by every agency this side of the equator. Either way, things were about to change. Vance lifted his chin a little higher and asked, "So, what do you propose?"

Kort quickly replied, "Since the CIA is supplying the intel on the sleeper cell, I propose we move the operation to Langley where we can keep a closer watch on the cell's movements."

Fornell countered with, "Except that the FBI is supplying the plan. The sleeper cell is just an added benefit in the taking down of the Mafia."

"Perhaps, but it's the sleeper cell that carries the most importance on this mission. Taking it out will rain a tremendous blow to Al-Qaeda."

"Need I remind you that the CIA knew nothing of this cell until the FBI brought you in?"

"Gentlemen," Vance interrupted, "I think you're missing the point." He paused a moment as he got their attention. "Let _me_ tell you how it's going to go down. NCIS will maintain logistical control. Neither the FBI nor the CIA has satellite access like we do. Points relevant to the Mafia will be handled by the FBI; points relevant to the terrorist cell will be handled by the CIA. Points relevant to the man who's going to pull this mission off will be handled by NCIS, which means that we have the final say in decisions that have to be made pertaining to Agent DiNozzo, the Mafia, and the terrorist cell."

"That's rather presumptuous of you, Director," Kort challenged.

"Not really. We have the most to lose."

"We ALL have something to lose," Fornell explained. "All three agencies are supplying personnel—"

"Not like Agent DiNozzo; otherwise, you wouldn't have spent the last three months preparing him."

"But—"

"—But what?" Vance leaned forward, confronting them. "If you think supplying a few extra people to run interference is the same as supplying the one man your computer spit out as the perfect match, then you've vastly overestimated your importance on this mission."

Vance took in their disbelief and seized their stunned silence to continue, "Besides, if you're wondering why this conference room is a bit crowded, I'll tell you. Everyone is here because I invited them, and because Agent DiNozzo trusts them more than he trusts himself. They're here because they're infinitely qualified to do the job. I know each of you has met Gibbs' team, but I'd like to refresh your memories on why NCIS will have the final say on what goes on with Agent DiNozzo. You've met Ms. Scuito, our world class forensics scientist; Dr. Mallard, one of the most highly regarded and published Medical Examiners in the country, Ziva David, former Mossad with contacts the CIA can only dream about; Agent McGee, who can, and has, run circles around any one of your technical gurus; and finally Agent Gibbs, whose closure rate is still higher than the closure rate of the CIA _and_ the FBI combined. The mission is controlled from here, gentlemen, or there will be no mission because there will be a change in personnel, and I'm not referring to the extras you're supplying."

If Team Gibbs were photographed at that precise moment, their expressions would be one of pride and satisfaction. Leroy Jethro Gibbs smiled crookedly at Fornell, pleased that Vance had actually been listening to him these past several months.

Fornell looked at his counterpart, knowing right away whose idea it was to take control. He looked at Kort, sensing the fight wouldn't be worth the rewards. He weighed the determination on Vance's face and knew he'd been played. Leon had waited until the FBI was too far invested in the case to pull such a maneuver, and in that moment, he developed a new appreciation for the NCIS Director. Taking a deep breath, he ceded the argument. "Very well, we'll do it your way. For now."

The phone buzzed and the secretary was heard saying, "Director? Special Agent DiNozzo and FBI Agent Dalton are here."

There was a shift in the room, nervous excitement at the announcement.

"Send them in."

Tony walked in first, presenting a stark contrast to the man that had walked out of NCIS three months earlier. His team sized him up, acknowledging his new look. Gone was the suit, the custom shoes, and designer ties. They had been replaced by faded blue jeans, work boots and a hoodie. His hair was long, too long, and he hadn't shaved in several days. He was lean, and muscled, and he looked angry until he saw Gibbs, and then, and only then, came the familiar smile. "Hey, Boss."

"DiNozzo. How're you doing?"

"Good. I think. Still don't know anything about this so-called mission I've been recruited to do. I'm beginning to believe they just kidnapped me for entertainment value. That's if you call watching me retch into a trashcan entertainment."

Gibbs knew what kind of training he'd been given and smiled.

"Hey Ziva, McGee."

"Good to see you, Tony."

"You are looking well," Ziva said, admiring him.

When he saw Abby, he paused, and then stepped around the table and gave her a hug. One of the things he missed most was the unabashed affection from their resident Goth.

"Agent Dalton, did he give you any problem?" Sacks asked.

She narrowed her eyes and glared at her protégé. It was evident that there was some sort of discord between the two of them, "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Fornell made introductions, "Agent Dalton is our Kansas City agent. She'll be handling Agent DiNotzo."

"I'm right here, Fornell, and can hear you," Tony commented, releasing Ducky's hand before he walked across the room to lean on the window sill next to his boss.

Ziva sized up Agent Dalton. She was agitated, not terribly unusual after spending a morning with her partner, she thought. It made her smile that he pissed her off; at least she wasn't the only one he annoyed. But looking at her partner, she had to admit that he didn't seem any worse off. In fact, he appeared quite the opposite. He was in good shape, probably the best shape he'd been in since she'd known him. His skin was tanned and healthy looking and his eyes were clear and focused. Outwardly, he was the picture of health. However, she felt that there was an undercurrent of emotion running through him, which she couldn't put her finger on, but there was something definitely different about him. More confidence? Hardly, Tony was the most confident man she knew. Anxiety? No, he didn't seem nervous. Lonely? Perhaps.

"I'm sorry, Agent DiNotzo, but from now on you'll have to get used to the FBI's way of doing things," Fornell said. "Shall we get started? I don't want to spend all morning here," and he handed over a flash drive to Agent McGee. "Would you mind bringing this up?" A few seconds later, the plasma TV in the corner of the room was displaying photos of people. "This man, Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. is widely considered to be the Washington DC Mafia king. He ascended to the rather lofty position after his uncle was gunned down in New York City three months ago." He clicked the remote and displayed the next screen, "And this man is believed to be the ayatollah of the terrorist cell, Ahmed Abu-Wahib. He's East Coast Ivy League educated and owns a string of car dealerships in the greater Metropolitan area that expands all the way into Illinois, Peoria to be exact."

"Strange bedfellows," Dr. Mallard observed.

"It gets stranger. These two don't exactly like each other. The Mafia may be one of the most organized crime syndicates around, but even they don't want to see America attacked by terrorists. And the sleeper cell doesn't exactly want to be indebted to an American organization for any attack that may be carried out. So they work together, but grudgingly. And at times it can be tense. That's the weakness we plan to exploit."

Fornell went through a few more slides and Gibbs only half listened to the spiel. Instead, he studied his agent. In the past, DiNozzo always had a playfulness about him that showed in his face. Now, that playfulness was gone. There was nothing in his eyes but concentration. Suddenly, Tony looked straight at him. Their eyes caught, and for a brief second, Gibbs thought he saw something there. Was Tony asking to be taken off this assignment? He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a man pleading to come home. Tony's expression was so quick and fleeting that Gibbs couldn't help but wonder if he had indeed seen anything at all, or was it simply his own thoughts and feelings being deflected back at him. He wouldn't find any answers now because DiNozzo had turned back to the screen and was intently studying the faces and listening to the plan.

But Tony wasn't really hearing anything. He hadn't _wanted_ to turn away from Gibbs; he _had_ to. He had so many mixed up feelings inside him that he couldn't make sense of it all. He wanted to talk to his boss, but was afraid that anything he might say could jeopardize the mission. A mission, he thought, that scared him. Not the actual undercover work, that's not what scared him. He could meld into any organization with ease. What scared him was getting out. Closing the deal and sealing a conviction were two of the most difficult tasks an agent could do. His skills weren't what they used to be even with the around the clock preparation that he'd been given these past three months. Add to that who his backup was going to be, and he had major reservations. He didn't want the FBI backing him up; he wanted NCIS doing it. He wanted Gibbs as his backup, and he wanted Ziva and McGee around. Always present in his head was the fact that the last two ops that he'd done solo didn't exactly turn out as expected, making his track record less than stellar. Eventually, he tuned back into the conversation.

"How do you propose DiNozzo do that?" Kort asked. "He's not exactly of Middle Eastern dissent."

"No, he's not," Fornell said, "but he is Italian, and he's had previous undercover experience working with the Mafia."

"But," McGee interjected, "wouldn't it be _because of that previous experience_ with the Mafia that he wouldn't be a good fit? I mean, he did put a bunch of them in prison for a long time."

"Actually, his undercover work in Baltimore is playing in our favor," Sacks explained. "The Mafia never knew that DiNozzo was a cop and never knew it was him who flipped on them. The Baltimore PD actually did something quite ingenious regarding that operation. They created a dummy file, complete with records and everything. They made it look like DiNozzo was a victim, and that the real rat was a disgruntled son-in-law."

"Why would they do that?" McGee asked.

"You'll have to ask them," Fornell said. "Sometimes even cops get lucky."

Tony looked nonplussed, remembering that time in his life. He hadn't just been accepted into the mafia family; hell, he'd been thoroughly embraced by the Lombardi Family, and when the cops came in and busted everyone, to maintain his cover, they busted him too, and left him sitting in a real cell with real thugs for a week. Not a pleasant memory by anyone's account.

"How do you propose he gain access to the Mafia's inner circle? That type of infiltration takes years," Vance said.

"Not if the daughter falls in love with you," Sacks smiled.

Tony eyes darkened. His team was well aware of that look, but the other members in the room hadn't a clue that they were treading on dangerous ground. "What?" he whispered.

Sacks reiterated, "You simply get one of the DiCarlo daughters to fall for you. There are four of them, and they're all available."

"No way," Tony toned. "I'm not going to rip some girl's heart out, again."

Gibbs leaned back, wondering how Sacks was going to handle him.

Stunned by the comment and its tone, Sacks retorted, "It's the only way, DiNozzo. You get one of them to fall in love with you, she brings you into the family, and you're immediately made a lieutenant in the organization."

"The daughters are innocent bystanders in the Mafia, Slacks. They never know anything."

"That's why it's such a perfect cover! It cuts off about two years of undercover work!"

"Find some other way," Tony demanded.

Slacks was getting pissed and replied, "We don't have another way that saves us that kind of time! Besides, it's not like you haven't done it before!"

Tony pushed off the sill, stepping forward and glaring across the room at the man. There was a hushed silence in the room as his pupils dilated. Fornell saw what was going to happen and pulled Sacks back before he could do more damage, "Shut up, Ron. Let me handle this."

But the glare Tony gave Fornell was a little unnerving. Gibbs knew if he didn't intervene, there wouldn't be much of an operation to discuss because the main headliner was going to take out the producers. "Tony," he said, taking hold of his shirt sleeve and urging him towards the door, "Come with me."

Tony looked from Slacks to Fornell while debating the offer from his boss.

"C'mon," Gibbs coaxed.

He swallowed and lowered his head, debating the merits of leaving against the advantages of staying.

"Tony," Gibbs whispered, again.

It was enough to break his concentration and he wisely decided to follow his mentor out of the conference room.

Gibbs wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say especially since he had no vested interest in the outcome of the mission other than the obvious. He didn't care if Tony did the mission or not, but there were three agency heads who might have something different to say about it. Once alone in the hallway, he asked, "What have I always taught you?"

Tony furrowed his brow and bit his upper lip, "Never get married?"

Suppressing the urge to head slap him, he stated, "If you don't like the parameters, change them."

"How?"

"There has to be other ways to move up in a crime family."

DiNozzo's mind began to churn. Yes, there was another way. "Can you get me the information I'll need?"

Gibbs didn't even answer: By his expression, he thought it was a stupid question.

Sacks looked up when they returned to the conference room and drummed his fingers on the desk, showing his annoyance. "I trust that you now see it OUR way?"

Tony leaned back again on the window sill and smiled. His smile was enough to melt the ladies in the room, no matter how professional they tried to be. "What I see is what I've always seen."

"This is the FBI's show, DiNozzo, and you WILL do it OUR way!"

"What I WILL do, Slacks, is be your inside man. What I won't do is get myself killed in the process. So I'll tell YOU what I will do."

"You'll—"

"—Agent Sacks!" Fornell cut him off. "Let's listen to what he has to say."

Tony wallowed in the win for a moment, staring at Slacks with satisfaction, even though it was only a small victory in the scheme of things. "All you want me to do it two things. First, you want me to cause a riff between the Mafia and the terrorist cell; and second, you want information: names, places, routing numbers, etcetera, etcetera. Am I right?"

Fornell nodded.

"Then let me go in my way. Don't give me a script to follow, don't give me one of your FBI plans, just let me go in and do what you obviously feel I'm capable of doing."

"That's not how we do things," Sacks toned.

"—I like it," Fornell countered.

Sacks did a double take. "What?"

"I like it. I think Agent DiNotzo has a point."

"And I don't want anyone going in with me. There's no need endangering other agents' lives unnecessarily."

Fornell shifted, obviously not liking that part of the plan. Running an operation of this size with just one man was a risk the FBI didn't often take.

"Listen, Fornell, you let me do this my way, and I'll have this done in less time than I spent entertaining you."

All eyes waited for his response. Fornell knew he'd have a hell of a lot of questions to answer, but the bottom line was he could justify a whole lot of things now that three agencies were working together. "Okay, we'll do it your way, for now. But the second you get into trouble, don't be surprised if plans change. Agreed?"

Before Tony could respond, Director Vance answered, "Agreed."

~~TBC


	2. Chapter 2

[Author's note: Thanks to all who have commented. It's the sort of thing that keeps me writing and posting. I'm typing and editing as fast as I can so I can keep the story going and taking the time to comment feeds that muse.]

Chapter 2

************************************8

McGee and Ziva worked endlessly on Gibbs' request. They meticulously researched the backgrounds of every man in DiCarlo's operation, and after two weeks of painstaking interviews, follow-ups, and mid-night stakeouts, they finally found something. They took their information up to MTAC, which had become the unofficial headquarters of the black ops mission now known as Montague, after the Shakespeare play. Vance, Gibbs, Fornell, and Kort sat in the thinly upholstered yet highly comfortable leather seats observing the various plasma screens.

It was here that they witnessed Tony's indoctrination into the notorious DiCarlo family. The ruse was simple: Tony "Villani" posed as a liquor delivery man for one of DiCarlo's businesses. Essentially his cover was that of an underling who had recently moved from his slain uncle's New York liquor business to the DC Metropolitan area. When several "thugs" attempted to rob the bar at the same time he was delivering liquor, he sacrificed himself for the good of the family, or so that's what he led them to believe, and fought valiantly to protect his goods. His actions came to the attention of one of the lieutenants and because he thought Tony had moxie, the lieutenant made a few calls to New York, which the FBI artfully intercepted, and got the man transferred to their Washington DC operation on a permanent basis.

It all went down amazingly smooth, and McGee watched with fascination as Tony began ingratiating himself right into the hearts and minds of one of the most dangerous crime families on the East Coast. That kind of talent can't be taught, he thought.

"Boss?" McGee interrupted the men, "I think I have something. Bobby Villanova, aka The Hatchet Man, has had numerous run-ins with the police. The Baltimore police. They say he's linked to several murders."

"He is also a notorious womanizer," Ziva added. "He will chase anything in a skirt."

"He's not family, but he's worked his way up the ranks of the DiCarlo crime organization. According to the information written in one of the earlier arrest records in Maryland, he's not very well liked by the family, but he's gutsy and will do the 'dirty' work, so they keep him around."

"We can use that to our advantage," Fornell mused. "I'll get Agent Dalton to flirt with him, take a few photographs, then, when the proverbial shit hits the fan, Tony will accuse him of leaking information to the FBI, and he'll have photographs to prove it."

"How will DiNozzo do that?" Sacks asked.

"We'll have to work it so Tony recognizes him from his days in Baltimore."

"Tony's already been tagged to play pit boss at their casino tomorrow night. If he's there, we'll set the trap."

"Of course," McGee said, finally catching on. "Tony recognizes him, reports him to the big boss as a snitch, and Tony earns instant credibility."

"How fast can we get the information to DiNozzo?"

"Tonight. He's going for a workout; we'll relay it to him then."

*************************************8

Right on time, Tony arrived at the gym. The gym wasn't one of those fancy fitness centers that sprouted up on every corner during the 90s; it was a hole-in-the-wall cement slab with old fashioned dumb bells and free weights with the occasional machine thrown in, and absolutely no cardio equipment; if you wanted to run, you ran outside. In the middle of the floor was a makeshift ring for the boxer wannabe's, and against the far wall was a row of metal lockers that had seen better days mostly due to people punching them instead of the bag twenty feet away. It had been easy for the FBI to install a few strategically placed hidden cameras in the place.

Tony opened the locker that he always used and saw the headphones connected to the music player. Not missing a beat, he tossed his bag in and with sleight of hand, managed to pull the player from inside his bag and stick the ear buds into his ears.

From MTAC, they could watch Tony but not hear him, and Tony could hear them, but not see them. The communication code they worked out was simple. He'd go to the one machine in the corner of the gym and select a weight. If he understood what was being said to him, he'd increase the weights for the next repetition; if he didn't like what was being said, he decreased the weights. He always did three reps, unless he didn't understand something, and then he would do four. It was a fairly simple code, even if it was one way.

Gibbs spoke into his ear piece, "Tony? If you can hear me, put the weight at 220."

McGee magnified the screen and watched as Tony slipped the pin into the 220 lb hole, and began lifting.

"Good. Bobby Villanova is the guy you want. When you get introduced around, you're going to recognize him as an FBI informant."

Tony increased the weights to 240 lbs, conveying he understood, and finished his three reps.

Gibbs continued, "Villanova goes back to your Baltimore days. Study the picture taped to the back of that thing you're listening to."

Tony increased the weights again and nodded his head like he was keeping beat to the music. Sitting on the bench, he fumbled with his MP3 player. To the casual observer, it looked like he was selecting different songs, but to the men and women of MTAC, he was studying a thumbnail photo of Bobby Villanova.

Gibbs sliced the air with his hand and the audio transmission was replaced with a popular beat. This particular gym was full of the Mafia, from the street soldiers to the lieutenants, and Gibbs and company didn't want to take any chances. The good thing about working with Fornell is that he didn't want to take any chances either. So far, so good.

They'd said what they needed to say so there was no reason to continue monitoring their undercover agent, but nobody gave the order to cut the visual transmission. They watched in silence as Tony moved from machine to free weights, pumping iron and working up a sweat. At one point, McGee piped in a Frank Sinatra song just so he'd have something familiar to listen to, and was rewarded with a smile of appreciation. An hour and a half later, he retrieved his duffel bag and left the gym, all under the watchful eyes of people on both sides of the law.

*************************************8

Vincent DiCarlo, Jr. stood behind the man who sat at the monitor. The camera had been trained on the new guy, Tony Villani. Vincent was the boss's oldest son and self-proclaimed head of personnel. Anyone who came into the family, no matter the circumstances, landed on his radar. His brothers teased him about his paranoia, but he was next in line to run the family business and he wasn't about to let anyone interfere with that opportunity.

"What'd'ya think, Mr. DiCarlo?" the security man asked. "You think he's gonna be a problem?"

"I don't know. Seems okay to me, but we'll keep an eye on him. My brother's taken a liking to him."

"From what I've heard, he's a fairly likeable guy."

Vincent stared a moment longer, shrugged, and left.

*************************************8

Tony showed up to the warehouse at precisely nine o'clock in the evening. He had already been fitted for a tuxedo and so getting inside was a breeze. What he didn't expect was for the show to be taken on the road.

He thought travelling casinos went out with the 80's, but evidently they were still alive and well. "Hey, Gordo," Tony said, annoying the hell out of the fat groundling. "Where're we going?"

"Th' name's Guido."

"Whatever. What's this all about?" he said, waving his hand towards the truck. "Where're we going?"

"On th' road."

"I can see that. Why?"

"Cuz the bossman's been gettin' pissed that ev'ry time he hosts gamblin' night, his warehouse gets raided by th' Feds."

Tony made his way around the cramped quarters in the trailer of the eighteen-wheeler. There were Roulette tables, Black Jack tables, Craps tables, and poker tables. In the corner, there was a bar with three barstools, and enough liquor to intoxicate every guest three times over.

The high-stakes gamblers began to arrive at ten, and the truck rolled out at eleven. "Where's the crew?" Tony asked.

Guido shrugged, "We make one stop. We'll pick 'em up then."

Sure enough, twenty minutes later the large eighteen wheeler ground to a halt. The rear door swung open and twelve people came on board. The door closed, and the truck jerked and sputtered on its way again.

"Hey, Tony!" Michel said, clapping him hard across the back. "I was hoping to see you on this one. You have any trouble with the tux?"

Michel was the son of Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. and his name was French because, as he liked to tell it, his mother was in love with Michel Magali, the famous French actor, when she was pregnant with him. Michel was her third son, which put him virtually non-existent as an heir, but he was outgoing and personable and of all the people Tony'd met so far, he had the most fun with Michel. He also had the best sense of humor and from the start, Michel had taken an instant liking to Tony.

"Nope," Tony smiled. "Just walked in and they fitted me right there on the spot. I could get used to this kind of treatment."

"Have you met my sister, Angela?"

Tony cast his eyes upon the raven haired beauty. "No, I can't say I've had the pleasure."

After introductions were made, she left, but not before giving the new guy a thorough once over, suggesting with her eyes what was on her mind.

"Who else is here?"

"Well," Michel began, "over there dealing cards behind the Black Jack table is Cab Carlson. He's insane; don't mess with him. Cutty is behind the other table."

"Cutty?"

"Don't ask. Let's just say when we need someone with a specialty, we call on Cutty."

"Oh," Tony said, understanding all too well what specialty he had.

"Spinning the wheel is Tara; Sam is spinning the other wheel, and Johnny and Bobby are working the Craps and poker tables."

Tony studied the poker table intently, so much so that Michel had to ask, "You okay? You look like you've seen a Fed."

"Is that Bobby Villanova?"

Michel stared at the table a moment longer before furrowing his brow and saying, "Yeah. You know him?"

"Sort of, only when I knew him he went by Robert. Let me guess… he came on board about ten years ago, keeps a low profile but does what's asked of him. Am I right?"

"Yeah, but how'd you know that?"

"Any chance I can talk to your father?"

Michel stepped back, his brow creased. "Are you nuts? Nobody talks to him, not unless you have—"

Tony raised his brows in answer to the unasked question.

"You have information on Bobby?" he whispered.

Again, Tony just raised his brows and took a sip of bourbon.

Michel shook his head. "You had better be sure, buddy, because if you go into my father making accusations like that, you've signed a death warrant—either yours or his."

"Oh, I'm sure."

~~TBC


	3. Chapter 3

[Thank you to all the reviews! It keeps my muse alive and kicking!]

Chapter 3

*************************************8

Tony received the invitation to attend the dinner two days after he'd met with the infamous Mafia Don, Vincent DiCarlo, Sr., or Vinny as he liked to be called, and not to be confused with his oldest son, who preferred the more formal "Vincent".

On his way back to his hotel room, Tony flipped the invitation over in his hand: sturdy card stock with embossed raised lettering. Formal attire was mandated, and no other name but his was scripted on the envelope. Things were looking good. It had been less than a month, and he'd already made inroads into the targeted crime syndicate. Inside his hotel room, he tossed his jacket over a chair and sat on the sofa, exhaling. Here, he could be Tony DiNozzo instead of Tony Villani. Here, he could think, scheme, plan, and postulate about his moves as a Mafia soldier for a notorious crime family in semi-private quarters. Semi-private may be too generous a description. In fact, it was closer to being a public room than a private one with all the electronic paraphernalia strewn surreptitiously about.

He'd been leasing this room for the better part of three weeks, and it pleased him that the FBI was picking up the tab because it was one of the nicest rooms in the whole damn city in one of the best five star hotels in DC. Everyone who was anyone stayed here. But the more important reason for having that particular room was the occupants next door. The government had abandoned MTAC in favor of a more favorable locale. They had leased the adjacent room for an indeterminate length of time and on the rare occasion when he had entered through the adjoining door, he let it be known that he felt like a fish in a fishbowl with all the cameras, audio, and surveillance equipment hidden about the suite and aimed right at him.

But also on those rare occasions when he had entered, he had always been relieved to see Ziva and McGee. He wasn't sure why he was relieved, but he was. Even though Gibbs usually wasn't around, Fornell and Kort were, and by the looks of their loosened ties and wrinkled dress shirts, they seemed to be making it their home away from home. And then there was Agent Dalton, hunched over a small desk wearing head phones. From the look on her face, she was intent on listening in on someone's conversation somewhere. Each and every time he had seen her, he debated on acknowledging her existence, but in the end, he'd decided against it. Of course, the glare she shot his way wasn't exactly inviting. He knew it stemmed from him taking her assignment. Yeah, HER assignment! The assignment that should have been hers, the one she was uniquely qualified for, and the one that would have catapulted her to the top of her career had been snatched from her. She had been on the fast track until that moment. That moment when NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo had upstaged her and stole her opportunity, or so that's how she had explained it to him, making sure to spare no expletive along the way. He had become acutely aware of her disdain a month ago when she was assigned as his FBI handler and damned near wrecked her rental car yelling at him. He realized at that point that it was quite accurate to assume that she didn't like him very much, perhaps not at all. Even still, the visits next door were usually brief, mostly just to relax his brain and reset his nerves. He shook his head and looked at the clock.

He still had some time to kill before he had to get ready for the party and he really wanted to see McGee. He snickered as he thought about his colleague. Why he wanted to see Timothy McGee was beyond explanation, but sometimes he just felt like he needed to see his face. He'd like to see Ziva too, for that matter, but it was McGee who often soothed him before a mission. He turned the TV to the agreed upon channel, exposing all to some Bridezilla show, and waited. He knew that once they saw what he was watching, they would begin the process of scanning the hallways, running a check of the hotel's exterior, and basically looking for anything that wasn't there (or was there) the day they moved into the room. When all was clear, which he knew it would be because nobody suspected him of being a Fed, Tony heard the sound of the door being unlocked.

He walked through, not remembering it being quite so loud. Looking around the nerve center, a nickname he used to refer to the room filled with electronics, he saw Gibbs for the first time, and Ziva. In fact, the room seemed somewhat more crowded than the last time he had visited, but no sign of McGee.

"What's up?" Gibbs asked.

"Oh, umm, I just wanted to make sure we're set for tonight?"

Gibbs immediately saw through the facade and stared at his agent an extra beat. "We're set."

Fornell, who was much more accustomed at running long term undercover operations, seemed to understand the question a little better and elaborated, "We sent two technicians in today to wire the private dining room where the party is being held." He flicked a switch and a monitor lit up displaying an elegant room, small, with an oblong table in the center, already set with fine china and silver and crystal. Tony studied it and counted, "Twelve chairs? He's hosting a dinner for only twelve people? I thought it was going to be a big party?"

When nobody answered his questions, he furrowed his brow and asked, "Why would I be invited to such a small dinner party?"

"Maybe they're setting you up with one of the daughters?" Sacks stated, finding it all a little amusing, although he wasn't sure if it was that thought that amused him or the idea that for the first time since this ordeal began, DiNozzo actually looked worried.

Fornell continued, "We have audio drops spaced intermittently around the room so it'll be easy to hear the conversation. We can't wire you because they'll search everyone, so don't talk into your cuff link. We think Vinny DiCarlo might be planning a large shipment of some kind and that's the reason for the dinner. He likes to disseminate information this way: You know, inform everyone of what's coming. After you ratted out Bobby Villanova, you most likely earned a spot at the head table."

"But how'd he figure it out so fast? I only said something two days ago."

Fornell picked up a stack of photos and held them out. Tony flipped through them and on each one, he saw a slender woman hanging off the arm of Villanova. Then he flipped to one up close and realized that the woman was the one and only FBI Agent Denise Dalton. He could only imagine how pissed off she must have been at being used this way. "These are the incriminating photos?"

"Yep."

"Where is he?"

Fornell shrugged, "We haven't seen him. The last time we heard his name mentioned was when we listened in on one of Cutty's conversations, and he said that he and Bobby were doing a job for the Bossman. Haven't seen him since."

Tony put the photos down. If he allowed it, he'd let his brain go to that dark place where he realized that he'd just got a man killed. And if he allowed it, he would let his brain realize just how easy it would be for them to kill him. But he pushed those thoughts to the back recesses of his brain and smiled at Dalton, "Nice job, Denise. You dress up good. Maybe when this is all over—"

"—Not in your lifetime, DiNozzo," she shot back at him.

"But I thought we could exchange stories—"

"—Like I said, not even if you were the last man alive. When this is over, I go back to Kansas City, and never see you again. And you can go back to your little NCIS job doing whatever NCIS people do." Turning away, she mumbled, "NCIS…what a joke."

Seeing the expression on Ziva's face, Tony challenged, "I bet our former Mossad agent could kick your FBI butt any day of the week."

"Bring it on—"

"ALL RIGHT!" Fornell said. "Enough of this! Go back to your individual corners and when we call you, you can come out swinging, but not until the bell rings! You got it!"

"Yeah, I got it," Tony agreed, only to turn to Ziva and say, "My money's on you any day of the week."

She winked and offered a lopsided grin at his confidence.

But Tony gave no indication that he was returning to his room. He looked around, stared a few moments at a screen, then picked up a file folder and thumbed through it.

"Hey," Gibbs said, recognizing a stall tactic when he saw one. "What do you want?"

"Where's McGee?"

Ahh, Gibbs mused, discovering the real reason for his visit. So Tony is feeling a little insecure about tonight. "He went to pick up Secretary Jarvis."

"So, the big man's comin' to the show? Don't like the sound of that very much."

Gibbs studied his agent, as did everyone else in the room. Tony was doing a great job. Actually, he was doing a fantastic job. Nobody would say it out loud because deep down, even though no one would admit it, there's always an air of anxiety that hangs over every covert operation, and no one wanted to jinx the good work that had been done by saying something.

Tony sauntered back to the connecting door and said, "Keep your fingers crossed that something good comes out of tonight." With that, he disappeared back into his room and Slacks closed and bolted the door behind him.

Everyone seemed frozen at their station. It was a strange visit by the man who was at the center of this operation, and because it was so out of character, they seemed to be looking at Gibbs for guidance. He remained pensive, sipping his cup of coffee, allowing them to wallow in the already awkward silence. But his thoughts were with his agent. Tony knew something that everyone else didn't. His experience with the Mafia was a double edged sword.

Gibbs would have to stay close tonight.

*************************************8

As the evening progressed, the suite continued to fill with people. Now dubbed Command Central by even the lowliest of agents, the room had become crowded, and it smelled. At one point, there were more people than chairs to sit in.

The furniture had been pushed aside to allow for tables, easels, and mini-computer hubs. The kitchen had two coffee pots percolating at all times and another on standby. Nothing was in the refrigerator until one of the agents brought back a grocery bag full of deli meats and breads, which, based on the grumbling, wasn't such a popular choice for surveillance cuisine.

"Why can't we get Chinese food?" asked a young, nondescript and very junior FBI agent whose ID read Steven Long.

"Because we would smell up the entire corridor with the amount we'd have to bring in. In case you weren't aware, we're trying to maintain a low profile," Fornell explained, frustrated at having to deal with several very rookie undercover personnel, but these were some of the concessions one made when running a mission out of a five star hotel. "As it is, we have to sneak people up through the maintenance elevator just to avoid suspicion on this floor."

The acne faced junior agent slunk down into his seat at the chastisement and tried to become invisible again. Gibbs smirked at Fornell's frustration and asked, "This room getting a little too small for you?"

"If memory serves," Fornell said, "it usually takes a little longer for that to happen."

Ziva stood up and declared, "I will make everyone sandwiches. Maybe Agent Dalton would like to help me?"

Completely taken by surprise, Dalton stuttered, "I—I—I am busy—"

"Good suggestion, Officer David," Fornell said. He faced the Kansas City agent, who was still wrapping her brain around the sexist job she was being asked to perform. Fornell added, "I like my sandwich with mustard."

Careers could be made or broken in moments like these. If she refused, she could be removed from the operation. If she complained, the fact that Special Agent David had volunteered to prepare the sandwiches would have undermined her claim. But acquiescing would have gone against every fiber of her being. Figuring this was a lose-lose situation, she decided that swallowing her pride was better than losing her career, so she stiffly removed her headphones and placed them neatly on the table. With a smile that only included her pursed lips, she walked stiff legged into the kitchen to begin making sandwiches for the dozen or so men and women now occupying the hotel suite, and with an Israeli woman whom she really just wanted to kill.

"David did that on purpose," Fornell mused.

"O'yeah," Gibbs replied, having enjoyed the exchange.

"Agent Fornell?" the young FBI agent, Stephen Long, said, hoping to redeem himself.

"Yeah?"

"Agent McGee and the Secretary of the Navy have arrived."

"Let's hope they have enough sense to come up the back way." They studied the monitor, watching the entourage of people enter the hotel lobby. After a minute, the men split up and McGee and Jarvis headed towards the dining room.

"They must be getting something to eat, Sir."

Fornell stared at the youngster and wondered where in the hell the FBI got their recruits. "Agent Long," he patiently began, "they are heading for the dining room because there is a delivery elevator there. Every five star hotel has its own elevator for room service. I suspect that's how they're going to get up to our floor unnoticed."

"Oh," he replied, slinking down once again in embarrassment.

By the time McGee and Secretary Jarvis entered the room, the sandwiches had been made and passed around. Ziva offered her tray to McGee, who gratefully accepted a ham and cheese sandwich, but Secretary Jarvis declined his.

"McGee," Ziva said, "Tony came by to see you."

"Wha'd 'e 'ant?" McGee said through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Nothing, just nervous about tonight."

To Dalton, those words were in-congruent with the agent she knew as Tony DiNozzo; he didn't seem fazed by anything, more like cocky and arrogant, but nervous? To Fornell and Sacks, those words were a shock too. DiNozzo didn't come across as ever being nervous, ever. They looked at Gibbs for an explanation, but got nothing. To Jarvis, those words seemed just about right. From the short time he'd worked with DiNozzo, he observed certain nuances about the agent, and one was whenever he got nervous, he sought out a familiar face. In this case, it must be Tim McGee.

Gibbs continued to shift from foot to foot, replaying Tony's entrance over and over in his head. Tony knew something, or he felt something. Either way, Gibbs' gut was doing somersaults.

*************************************8

Tony showered and dressed in his tuxedo. He stood at the mirror in the suite adjusting his tie and mumbling, "How the Hell do they get these things tied the first time. Where's Ducky when you need him?"

Gibbs smiled. He was looking over McGee's shoulder at the monitor that was locked onto Tony's room. There were three screens in front of McGee, each attached to a camera in Tony's suite: one aimed at the front door, one aimed at the living space, and one in the bedroom. No privacy for him.

After several attempts, Tony finally managed to get the bow tie looking good, so he slipped on his jacket. Knowing that they were listening, he decided to regale them with his thoughts, "I hope tonight's dinner is linguine topped with scallops and shrimp. My mother used to make the best Alfredo sauce. After she died, Marguerite, that was the name of our cook, tried to make it, but hers was never as good as Mom's."

"Does he always ramble like this?" Fornell asked.

"Not always," Gibbs answered.

McGee added, "As long as he's rambling, he's fine. It's when he stops talking that you know something's wrong."

Tony drove his car to the restaurant and parked on a narrow alley two blocks away. The neighborhood wasn't the best in the city, but it wasn't the worst either. From the street, the restaurant looked like nothing; a brick building with a front door that was four steps below street level. A small faded sign hung from a wrought iron arm that read, "Villa Cuchina". Sometimes these hole-in-the-wall dives were the best places to get magnificent authentic cuisine, and his mouth began to salivate even before he opened the door. But there was that feeling again. The one where his gut was trying to tell him something, but he had no idea what that something was. He straightened his jacket and entered the restaurant.

Agent Sacks announced, "I've got him on video; he just entered the restaurant." Sacks pushed the video feed to the large plasma screen on the wall so the powers at hand could watch the evening unfold.

Inside, Tony looked around. The place was dimly lit. Checkered table cloths adorned the square tables, and the perimeter of the room was lined with booths.

"Buona sera!"

"Buona sera," Tony replied, smiling at the short rotund woman whose face lit up when she heard the Italian.

"Il mio giovane. Lei parla l'italiano!"

"Si."

Her eyes were disproportionately huge behind her thick glasses and judging by her giddy expression, she wanted to say more, but an older gentleman came up behind her. "Mama," he began, "please don't delay his arrival. If you talk to everyone who comes in tonight, we won't get anyone fed."

"But he is so handsome, Papa. And he speaks Italian! We should introduce him to Bella!"

Tony smiled at the elderly couple and followed the man through the restaurant, up a flight of stairs and into a large, elegantly decorated room; the same one he'd seen earlier on the monitor. "Thank you," Tony said, but the old man didn't stick around long enough to hear it.

Back at command central, Jarvis and Vance sat on the overstuffed sofa watching the feed on the plasma screen. Kort sat in a wing backed chair, while the matching chair remained empty, reserved for his Director, who they were expecting any minute. Gibbs stood behind McGee, shifting from foot to foot. It was nice to have the big screen set up so the agents who didn't have any activity on their particular screens could still keep an eye on their undercover operative. Ziva liked the FBI's way of doing things and said, "Why can't we have this kind of set up?"

"We do, Ziva," Gibbs answered, "It's called MTAC."

Feeling a little stupid, she clarified, "I mean when we have to run surveillance. It's nicer to lease a room and set up the equipment in something like this than to be crammed into a cold uncomfortable utility van on some dark street."

"Remember, Agent David," the SECNAV offered, "this is a joint operation, which means it's jointly funded. You can do a lot more when three agencies are paying the bill."

Fornell had been ignoring the conversation in favor of watching his NCIS counterpart. Finally, the curiosity got the better of him and he asked, "What's wrong, Jethro? You look anxious."

"What do we know about this meeting?"

The question got Vance and Jarvis' attention.

"We think Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. is going to announce his ties with the terrorist cell, and we hope to get a name, if not many names, tonight."

"You know what I'm asking, Tobias. Who's going to be there?"

Fornell shrugged, "We're not sure."

"That's why I'm anxious."

Suddenly the suite became eerily silent. The seriousness of the evening was coming into focus. Tony was heading into a meeting where any number of people could blow his cover— if it hadn't been blown already. Fornell soothed, "We have people in place to intervene if necessary. We're not expecting any problems, Jethro."

Gibbs shifted, wondering if Fornell really meant that or if he was trying to convince himself everything was okay. They silently focused their attention back to the screen where DiNozzo was making his entrance.

Tony looked directly at the camera before turning and looking at the room. He recognized Michel and his father, Vinny. He also recognized the other sons, but that was it. Everyone else in the room was a mystery. When Michel saw him, he waved him over, "Hey, Tony? Come here, I want to introduce you to some people."

He made his way across the room and Michel began the introductions, "Tony, I'd like you to meet my brothers. This is Vincent, he's the oldest brother. And this is Nicholas." They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. "And my two younger brothers here are Frank and Mario."

Tony shook their hands, making small talk as the brothers chided and teased each other. But it was Vincent who sized him up and down, making his stomach constrict with every inch of inspection. Finally, the oldest brother said, "I've heard about you, Tony. I think my sister Angela mentioned your name."

"You remember her, don't cha?" Michel asked, "you met her on our rolling casino night."

"Oh, yeah, I remember her. She's quite beautiful if memory serves me correctly."

"Yes, she is, but unfortunately, she's currently unavailable."

"Oh," Tony said, sensing that Vincent was wary of his intentions. "Well, a beautiful girl like that doesn't stay single long, that's for sure."

"Are you dating anyone, Tony?" Vincent asked.

"No. When I was in New York, I had a girl, but she dumped me when she found out what I did. Damn East Coast girls; all they think about is money." Tony felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny and wondered what Vincent was thinking. His stolid nature made it difficult to decipher his feelings.

The brother studied him a beat, analyzing him. "But isn't that what we all think about?"

Tony nodded, "That and sex, and not necessarily in that order."

The brothers laughed at his candor and Michel clapped him on the back, "I can't imagine you having problems getting the ladies."

Tony felt relieved by Michel's boyish enthusiasm, and agreed, "Usually I don't, but it's keeping them interested that's a challenge."

"Say," Michel asked, "you ever date a Protestant girl?"

Tony was intrigued by the question and thought back on all the ladies he'd ever dated. "Maybe, I can't say for sure. I once knew this Israeli chick."

"A Jew? Really? Did you date her?"

"Nope. Too scared. Reminded me of a snake, lying in wait, ready to strike."

Ziva narrowed her eyes as she monitored the conversation. "I might kill him," she whispered.

"Not if DiCarlo does it first," Gibbs somberly reminded everyone.

Tony enjoyed Michel and his brothers, everyone except for Vincent, who seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time studying him. But Michel's other brothers were like any other guys. They talked about cars, sports, and girls. The only time the conversation became serious was when they discussed the other crime families, and Vincent listened carefully to Tony's previous experiences with the Mafia, asking seemingly mundane questions, but being particularly interested in his answers.

All was going smoothly until Tony saw a small group of men enter the room and he recognized one of them: Bobby Villanova. He could feel himself tense and knew that Vincent would have noticed it as well.

Fornell froze; Gibbs straightened; the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach grew. "What's he doing there?"

Fornell leaned forward, "I don't know, but this can't be good."

"What's your plan to extract DiNozzo if he needs it?" Secretary Jarvis asked.

Fornell paused. "We can have the restaurant surrounded in a matter of minutes, and if necessary, we can storm the place."

"I asked about DiNozzo's extraction. What's your plan?"

Fornell paused, hesitant to say what had to be said. Finally, he laid it out, "He's on his own for at least three to four minutes. He'll have to fend for himself until we can get to him." If it were possible, the suite became even more silent. Only the occasional beeping of the electronic equipment floated through the room.

*************************************8

Mr. Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. held up his wine glass to get his guests' attention. When all was quiet, he announced, "Gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make tonight… several important announcements, in fact. We have personnel issues to discuss, money policies to introduce, and new alliances to forge. I've taken the liberty of assigning seats, so if you'll look for your name, we shall dine on a feast fit for a king."

Tony followed Michel to the table and found his name card. He was relieved when he saw that he was seated next to Michel, not so happy when he saw the name card next to his. Bobby Villanova pulled out the chair and sat down, barely giving him a second glance. Tony caught the eye of the Boss, Vinny DiCarlo, but it was fleeting, and unreadable. Thoughts of feigning sickness skittered through his brain, but in the end, he slowly pulled out his chair and sat down.

The dinner conversation was light, nothing too heavy and no business was discussed while they were enjoying the cuisine. The food was better than anything Tony had ever remembered having as a child. In true Italian fashion, the serving plates were piled high and seemed endless. The antipastos included cured meats, olives, and cheeses. Tony remembered from his childhood not to take too much of the antipasto because there would be no room for the second and third courses that were coming. Sure enough, the next course arrived, which was a selection of fish and truffles. That was followed by a selection of pasta dishes, from deep, cheesy lasagna to tortellini. A palate-cleanser came next in the form of sorbet, and that was followed by another selection of different cheeses and meats. Then, the coffee came, expresso. The smell reminded him of family dinners when he was very young. Finally, after several hours of innocuous conversation, the plates were cleared and the dishes removed and each guest was delivered a glass of Sambuco.

Tony hadn't eaten this much authentic Italian food in years. He wanted to undo the button on his slacks, but only the man seated at the head of the table could do that. So instead of loosening his pants, he leaned back, allowing his body to digest what felt like five pounds of food.

He was thankful that Bobby Villanova never once spoke to him; instead, he seemed to prefer the conversation with one of the Street Captains whose face Tony didn't recognize. Fortunately, Michel, who was quite the talker, kept him engaged in conversation and before long they were discussing the possibility of Tony dating his younger sister, Daniella. According to the family, she was even more beautiful than Angela, but Tony's past experience with match-makers was that the girls never quite lived up to their reputed beauty. Besides, he preferred to get his own dates.

"Hey, Pop," Michel said, "how 'bout we hear your good news. Dinner's over and I for one am anxious to hear about our new alliance."

Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. wiped the napkin across his mouth. He had enjoyed the food and he had especially enjoyed having his sons around. Michel, in particular, was one of his favorites, but he'd never tell his other sons this fact. He leaned back. "All right. I think it's time."

Vincent rarely gave away what he was feeling, but he managed a pursed smile, tossing a glance Tony's way, like he knew something was coming.

"Did you see that?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs nodded. "Something's up."

"Like what?" Ziva asked, not following the silent communication that seemed to be going on. She looked around when she didn't get an answer.

McGee whispered in her ear, "I don't think they know what it means."

Ziva nodded, like she understood, but she really didn't.

Mr. DiCarlo waited until he had everyone's full attention before beginning. "As you know, Uncle Dan was gunned down in New York City almost six months ago." He paused long enough to cross himself. "And as you know, no deed like that can go unpunished. We know the Guidinetti Family is responsible for his death and as we dine here tonight, I have already signed the contract on Rolf Guidinetti, the youngest son and the one who murdered our beloved Uncle Dan."

There was a low rumble of satisfaction as heads nodded appreciatively and toasts were made.

Vinny continued, "Before you shower me with too much adulation, I'd like to share my next piece of news: our future business partners. They are not our typical partners in that we haven't ever conspired with such an organization before. In fact, it took me a long time to bring them into the fold, but they have proven themselves on more than one occasion, which is why I want to introduce them to you now."

Michel furrowed his brow. He set his drink down and leaned forward, listening closely to his father.

"As you know," Vinny, Sr. continued, "in the years since September 11, more groups have established themselves in the United States who…how shall I say …challenge the law enforcement community. Some aren't nearly as sophisticated as we are, and others are more. Those that have the sophistication and finesse that we have are what our US government might label 'sleeper' cells."

Michel furrowed his brow and whispered, "We're working with terrorists?"

Vinny DiCarlo might be a ruthless mobster, but he was a caring father, and he didn't like hearing the disappointment in his son's voice. "We're not working _with_ them, Michel. I've simply struck an alliance."

"What does that mean?"

Vinny took a sip of his Sambuco before answering. "It means that I plan to use them to do our dirty work. In the past twelve months, I've lost four of my best men, God Rest Their Souls, and I'm tired of it. If we're not being gunned down by our competitors, we're getting busted by the Feds. If we don't change the way we do business, we're not going to last down here in DC. So I have a two-fold plan to turn that trend around. First, I've enlisted the help of a small group that calls themselves 'Freedom from America.' I've been in talks with Ahmed Abu-Wahib, the head of this group, and he's been anxious to learn how we operate."

"Wait a minute," Michel said. "I think I've heard of this group. Aren't they anti-American?"

His father nodded. "Yes. Like I've mentioned, they're actually what the US government is calling a terrorist sleeper cell."

Tony observed the expressions around the table and sensed a measure of displeasure.

DiCarlo sensed it too because he quickly added, "Like I said, they've been anxious to learn how we do business. In return, Abu-Wahib has agreed to take care of some of our messier problems."

"Like removing Rolf Guidinetti," Vincent added, pleased that his father had taken his advice.

"Yes. He and his people are the ones who will be exacting revenge on the Guidinetti family tonight for killing your Uncle Dan. When they get caught, the Feds won't be able to connect the crime back to us."

Tony's eyes widened at the statement. 'When?' DiCarlo just said, 'When they get caught,' and like a head slap from Gibbs, Tony realized what DiCarlo was doing.

Slowly the members around the table began to warm to the idea. A few nods coupled with a few positive remarks seemed to please Vinny. All except for Michel, who wasn't totally on board yet. "But, Pop, working with terrorist? Doesn't that go against what we stand for?"

"Not at all," Tony answered before his father could. "Think of this way, Michel, those terrorist are the perfect fall guys. If you can get them to do our dirty work, then your father can flip on them and he kills two birds with one stone. He keeps his men from getting arrested or, worse, killed, and he takes out the competition at a strategically convenient time. Nice plan actually. I'm sure the US government will be appreciative."

Vinny cocked his head at the explanation, but before he could say anything, Michel said, "So why don't we just flip on them now. I don't feel right about having any kind of alliance with terrorists."

His dad turned his attention away from Tony and answered, "What you don't know is that these terrorists have the perfect money laundering plan. I'd like to learn a little more about it, perhaps even acquire some of their businesses _before_ I wipe them out." Seeing that his middle son wasn't completely convinced, he became almost jovial and said, "Listen, Michel, when we take these men out, I'll bet my last dollar that the Feds will be hailing us as heroes. You mark my words. By doing this my way, the terrorists end up with their hands dirty, we end up cleaning our money faster and more efficiently than ever before, and when we no longer need them, we flip on them. They won't even know what happened."

After hearing it put like that, Michel slowly nodded, seeing the value of the plan. "Okay, I see that working in our favor."

"Good!" Vinny DiCarlo said, anxious to move on. Now that that's settled, I can move onto my next, and final, announcement." The waiter came in carrying a bag of golf clubs. Smiling, Vinny stood up and stretched. He was a big man, over six feet tall, and weighed in around 230 pounds. In his prime, he was considered one of the handsomest men in the business. He still is by most accounts, but an extra twenty pounds and a slightly thinning hairline have added a few years to his already sixty-two year old body. It didn't slow him down any and anybody who played a round of golf with him knew he was at the top of his game, both professionally and personally. And there was no other pastime that he preferred engaging in than golf. Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out one of the fatter clubs. "Do you know what I've got here?"

The men, of course, knew. At one time or another, they'd all played with him and so they recognized the stick immediately. But the way Vinny caressed the club and looked at it made most of them a little uncomfortable, but more importantly, eased them all into silence.

"This, my friends, is my favorite club. It can be used so many different ways. If I need a long hitter, this will take my ball 190 yards. If I need to get out of trouble from a much shorter distance, this will do it, too. This club alone can knock a few strokes off my handicap without even trying." He walked around the table, rubbing the head of the club and admiring its long shaft. "The problem with this club is that it can't talk, because then it would truly be my closet ally." A few chuckles were heard. "But if it could talk, I think it'd tell me that there is a traitor amongst us."

The air left Gibbs' lungs, as did Fornell's. There were few things in life that drained the blood from his face, but sensing what was coming was doing just that.

Vinny continued making his way around the table, his slow yet deliberate moves causing fear among the diners. "How do I know that there is a traitor sitting in this room? Because I've done my research. I did my own investigation into Uncle Dan's death, and all leads bring me right back here to someone sitting in this very room, at this very table. A traitor. The worst of the worst kind of family member." Tony swallowed, sweat pouring from his body as Vinny closed in behind him.

"Now, just to be clear so that everyone understands what I'm saying, I don't like traitors, and I don't like snitches, and I don't like double crossers. It's difficult enough battling the Feds when they aren't being supplied family secrets, but it's damn near impossible to do it when they are."

Tony looked at the door, ready to bolt, figuring his odds of escaping alive were slim, but he'd have to give it a shot.

And that's the moment it happened. Vinny swung the golf club with all his power, bringing it down on Bobby Villanova's head, spewing bone fragments, hair, and brain matter as far away as the wall. Tony shielded his face with his arm as Vinny brought the club down again and again until there were very few recognizable features left of Villanova's head. The shoulders were there, twitching, as the arms hung limp at his sides, and the viscous red and grey pulp that was once his head, lay oozing on the dessert plate.

Tony stared, trying to take his eyes away, but unable to move. If the truth be told, he didn't have any recollection of what happened next. He didn't dare take a breath, or move, or even blink. He sat frozen, not even able to use his napkin to clean off some of the more gruesome pieces of the man's brains from his own body. The next fifteen minutes were a blur. There was some talk of a new second in command, but all he could see was the bashed in skull and oozing gelatinous substance of what was left of Bobby Villanova, and nothing on Ducky's autopsy table had ever prepared him for this.

Nobody at command central spoke for ten minutes. It all happened so fast that mobilizing anyone would have been after the fact, and much too late to prevent anything. They studied Tony's face, but he was hard to get a read on. Gibbs and Fornell exchanged looks, and without saying anything, they both knew that that was way too close for comfort.

Tony stumbled to his car. As he reached for the handle, his gut lurched, and he barely made it to the nearby bushes before he emptied the contents of his stomach. He must have retched and heaved for ten straight minutes. Sweat covered his body, and his head pounded like he'd slung back a dozen Sambuca's instead of one.

Driving proved to be even more difficult than walking as every five minutes he had to suppress his body's urges to continue vomiting even though there was nothing left in his stomach. Somehow, he made it to the hotel and if he had known where the damn lot was, he would have driven straight there and parked his car himself, but he hadn't any idea, so he pulled over to the curb, cutting the engine and trying his damndest to squelch the images that kept invading his brain.

His door flung open and an all-too enthusiastic valet stood at attention, waiting for him to vacate his seat.

Tony slowly pulled himself out and leaned heavily against his car. The attendant's expression vastly changed when he saw him. "Are you okay, Sir?"

Tony ignored the question, opting instead to steady himself on the side of the car. Slowly, he began making his way up the steps and into the hotel lobby.

In command central, McGee picked him up on the outside camera, "Boss, I have him." He pushed the image of Tony to the plasma. The image of their always in control agent shocked them. McGee and Ziva exchanged a worried look while Fornell snuck a peak at his counterpart. Like a gruesome scene from a train wreck, nobody could take their eyes off the undercover agent. From this angle, it was evident that he was not the same agent of just a few hours ago. His shoulders were stiff, his eyes flinty, his face pale, and his jaw set.

Inside the opulently decorated hotel lobby, Tony felt like he was suffocating. He took in the smells of several large bouquets of flowers in an attempt to steady his breathing, but that didn't help. His tuxedo was splattered with human tissue, bones, and blood and for obvious reasons his appearance was difficult to ignore. The staff tried, but even they stared at bit too long, no doubt wondering what happened to the handsome man they had all grown to admire and enjoy during his stay.

Inside the elevator, he leaned heavily against the wall as it grinded slowly upwards. Rubbing his stomach, he could feel his anger growing at the situation he'd been placed in. His whole body shook and he wasn't sure if it was due to circumstance or resentment. A few deep breaths seemed to help, but when he thought about the SECNAV, or Fornell, or Kort, and the role they played in this whole charade, it only served to piss him off more. The elevator made no stops on the way to its ninth floor destination, but it seemed to be taking forever. Suddenly, he punched the doors, leaving a dent in the thin decorative veneer.

The agent's anger was not lost on the occupants of command central, who had followed him through the lobby and watched his every move in the elevator. Kort sneered, "It looks like your boy isn't going to be able to handle it?"

Fornell shot back, "Even you'd be hard pressed to come out of that unscathed, Kort, so back off him and let him work it out."

Ziva looked around the room and realized something. Everybody, even Denise Dalton was wide eyed with anticipation. Not a single agent sitting in the room seemed certain on how to proceed. This may well have been a joint operation, but no one, not even Mossad, had ever experienced anything quite like what they'd just witnessed. There were a lot of people who were wading into uncharted waters, and there was only one agent at the center of it all. The question on everyone's mind was how to handle Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.

Tony was now making his way down the hallway. They watched as he slid the plastic card into the door and turned the handle. No one was surprised when they heard the banging on the connecting door.

Fornell unlocked the bolts and opened it. They were not prepared for the visual attack on their eyeballs. Tony, who was by far one of the most handsome and suave men in all three agencies, was pale, and his eyes were dark and callous. His jaw and mouth were set, causing his breathing to be easily heard in the now silent room. Blood darkened the already black tuxedo jacket and mottled the white dress shirt. Brown and beige flecks of human brain covered his sleeves, and his fists clenched and unclenched as he stood. Through it all, his body involuntarily trembled.

In a slow, deliberate voice, he toned, "What the Hell was that?"

Coming off somewhat aloof, Kort answered, "It's evident you're upset…"

"Upset! You think I'm upset?" he seethed.

Kort continued, "Our intelligence may have been off—"

"—Intelligence! You call what I went into INTELLIGENT?"

Fornell tried to assuage his anger, "Listen, Agent DiNotzo—"

"—LISTEN! Listen to what! Listen to how that could have been _my_ head tonight? Listen to the bones as they crunched and the flesh as it ripped _less than two feet from me_!"

"We had no idea that was going to happen."

Having the words catch in his throat, he backed up, still reeling from the experience.

Gibbs studied him. To say he was shaken was an understatement, but if he knew anything about his agent, he knew Tony needed time to process the episode: time to manage it, time to understand it, and then time to deal with it. Unfortunately, time was not a commodity that was in abundance. Even though Tony could handle more than the typical federal agent, he had his limits.

To Tony, it felt like the walls were closing in and his stomach twisted again. He backed out of command central, trying to rid his brain of the images that sat on his eyeballs. He threw his jacket on the floor and followed that with his tie. He yanked out his shirt tails and unbuttoned his shirt until the nausea hit him again and he had to concentrate hard on working through it. He thought about what Kort said, narrowing his eyes at the audacity of the spook. Storming back to the other room, he demanded, "What kind of intelligence are you getting here!"

Kort answered, "We are running the most state of the art surveillance on DiCarlo and his associates. Had we'd known that he was going to use his golf clubs as a weapon, we would have intercepted them."

Tony just stared at his nemesis' nonchalant attitude until the claustrophobia enveloped him again. Once again, he backed away, ripping off his shirt and throwing it on the floor next to his tie and jacket. He kicked off his shoes and socks. Suddenly whipping around, he returned to command central and looked directly at Gibbs. "Did you know?"

Gibbs shook his head, carefully studying his agent.

Most everyone had stopped what they were doing and was wary of the agent, watching his every move, sensing a dangerous side that every undercover agent had, but few openly displayed it.

Tony left again, and this time he headed straight for the bathroom where he turned on the shower. He pulled off his undershirt and black slacks and threw them into a corner. Thinking of yet one more thing to say, he stormed back into the suite and looked straight at Jarvis and stated, "You got the information you wanted, now I'm done! And don't tell me you own me 'cuz you don't fuckin' own me anymore!" With that, he stormed back into his bathroom, stripped off his boxers, and stepped into the scalding hot shower.

"McGee," Gibbs said, ticking his head towards the door. "Go."

Tim pulled his headphones off and left. As he entered Tony's suite, he gathered up his clothes and put them in a bag for the cleaners. Then he went into the bathroom and listened as the water sprayed from the nozzle. "You okay?" he said. When he got no response, he leaned against the sink and waited. After a while, McGee said, "You're gonna rub your skin off, Tony."

McGee noticed a cessation in scrubbing and wondered how long he would stay in the shower. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

An hour later, the water was still running and he figured both questions had been answered.

TBC

[Author's note: This chapter was the one that spent months in my head and which is the reason for the story. I had hoped to bring it to a fast conclusion after writing it, but it didn't work out that way. Credit for the inspiration of this scene will be stated at the end of this story.]


	4. Chapter 4

[Author's note: I've received so many wonderful comments that I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to give me some feedback. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.]

Chapter 4

In command central, few words had been spoken since Agent DiNozzo's outburst. Jarvis knew when he recruited the agent that he was a force to reckon with, but reckoning with forces was never a problem for the Secretary. He didn't get where he was because he shied away from challenges, and this was no different.

Ziva wanted to go to her partner, but that was impossible. The image of Tony, half naked and still trembling was seared in her head, and for the first time since she had met the man, she saw a vulnerability in him that she didn't know he was capable of displaying.

Fornell cleared his throat, "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, back to work. We still have a job to finish."

Gibbs walked into the kitchen where he emptied his umpteenth cup of coffee.

*****************************************8

Tired of leaning, McGee was now sitting on the commode, waiting for the hot water to run out or his friend to collapse from water saturation. Finally, the spigot stopped and he asked, "Run out of hot water?"

There was still no response but Tim did get a 'Thanks' when he handed him a towel. McGee then spent the next five minutes watching his friend brush and re-brush his teeth. He waited patiently. It wasn't until Tony stared in the mirror that McGee saw the minute trembling.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"You should have seen it, McGee."

Tim barely heard the sentence as his friend stared at himself in the mirror. "I did see it, Tony. We all saw it, and you have to believe me when I tell you nobody had any idea that DiCarlo was capable of such an act."

Tony leaned heavily on the sink, his mind racing, no doubt replaying the scene over and over again in his mind.

"C'mon," Tim coaxed, "put some clothes on and we'll watch a movie."

Tony pulled on a pair of black cotton jams and a white t-shirt and followed McGee into the living room. The adjoining door had been left open, but command central was dark. Only the light from the screens illuminated the room. McGee tuned the TV to the movie station and found an old Humphrey Bogart film, _The Maltese Falcon_. "Hey, isn't this one of your favorites?" When he got no response, he adjusted the sound and sat next to him on the sofa. But his colleague was distracted; his eyes flittered around the room, occasionally closing only to pop open a second later in alarm. And it wasn't too difficult to figure out what was going through his head, especially as his body continued to ever so slightly tremble.

Ten minutes later, Ziva entered the suite carrying a tray of hot mugs. "Tony, I made us some hot tea. It will help you relax."

He looked at her suspiciously, "What'd you put in it?"

"Why do you think I put something in it?"

"Because that's what my gut's telling me."

Gibbs smiled at the accusation. Tony was good on a multitude of levels and it was always a pleasure to watch him in action.

Ziva tried to look away, but she could never carry it through. "For your information, I did not add anything to your drink. What I have with me is a completely natural herb that when added to a hot cup of tea, will dissolve and release a small amount of Censorol, a completely organic relaxant."

"So I was right. You are drugging me."

"Do you want this or not?" she asked, exasperated at his intuition.

He accepted the mug and wrapped his trembling fingers around it and took a few sips. "What I need is a shot of Martin Mills…not some plant." But he soon realized that taking the edge off this night might be just what he needed, and he finally said, "Okay, give me some of those things."

She handed him a long, skinny and gnarled root with lots of knots and blemishes, and said, "Just put it in your tea like a spoon. It will release gradually, and will add a slight woodsy flavor to it."

He did as he was told, not bothering to joke about its appearance. The lack of quips was troublesome, but understandable. She nestled in between him and McGee and got comfortable. She took off her shoes and put her feet up on the coffee table.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Yes. You?"

He ignored the question. Being with Ziva and McGee had a calming effect that no natural or man-made drug could produce, and he didn't want to ruin it with a bunch of words.

Gibbs saw it, and (he suspected) so too did Fornell and Sacks. If you spend any time with DiNozzo, you quickly realized that he has certain moods, and you quickly recognize the discontented ones. The SECNAV never responded to Tony's earlier remarks. He simply templed his fingers and watched the scene unfold.

Tony sipped his tea slowly, allowing the warm fluid to glide down his throat, waiting for the memories of the night to vanish. He knew better than to think they would, but he hoped they might at least fade. It took a while, but his brain stopped racing and his hands stopped trembling and his lids became heavy. He was looking into the liquid, admiring the colors as the light danced off the reflection. Looking up, he said, "This isn't half bad."

"At least it will allow you to get some sleep. You would never get any tonight otherwise."

McGee put his mug down and asked, "You enjoying the movie, or do you want to hit the sack?"

He waggled his head, undecided. The movie was getting to one of his favorite parts, but he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Come on, Tony. How 'bout you go to bed?"

When he didn't get any resistance, McGee took the mug from his hand and together with Ziva, they pulled him off the couch. Tony was lean, but he was still a big man, "It'd be nice if you helped us out a little here."

"You drugged me; you can carry me."

"I didn't drug you," McGee countered. "She did."

"What? I did not drug you," Ziva said, allowing a smile to affect her words. "Besides, it was your choice to add it to your tea. It did help you relax, yes?"

"It helps with something…not sure what though."

"You cannot blame your condition on us."

They shuffled him into the bedroom, each step getting more and more difficult because he was succumbing to the power of the natural depressant. They barely got him over to the bed before he fell, face down, onto the mattress. He would have slid off had it not been for both of them catching him. Ziva wrapped her arms around his chest and pushed him over, while McGee swung his legs up and on the bed. By the time they were finished, they were sweating and breathing hard and amazed that they had actually managed to get him into bed.

They had no sooner stopped to admire their work when they heard, "McGEE!"

They turned to see Sacks standing in the doorway. Beckoning with his arm, he demanded, "Get out of here! You're getting ready to have visitors!"

"Ziva! Let's go!"

"One of you has to stay," Sacks hissed. "Too many things lying around and not enough time to police the place. Come on!"

McGee turned on his heels, grabbed his mug and followed Sacks out of the room.

"Hey!" Ziva called after them. "What am I supposed to do here?" she whispered to the rapidly disappearing agents. But her answer came in the form of the door quietly being closed behind them and the locks sliding into place.

She heard several raps on the suite door followed by a man's voice, "Hey, Tony?"

Ziva stared at it. Then she noticed the lock wasn't turned and realized it was easy enough for someone with a card key to walk in.

"Come on, Tony! Open up!" More pounding followed. "It's Michel."

She looked around at the mugs of tea and made an executive decision. She hurried back into the bedroom and threw her badge and gun under the mattress, and then stripped off her clothes, leaving her shirt, khakis and sweater strewn across the floor. Hearing the door to the suite swing open, she slid into bed beside Tony and laid her head on his shoulder. Snuggling up against him, she draped her arm over his stomach, took a deep breath and completely relaxed her body into his, thankful he was fast asleep.

Michel and his older brother, Vincent, entered the suite and looked around. Noticing the tray on the table, Michel said, "It looks like he had company."

Vincent warily moved towards the bedroom and looked in. He flipped on the switch and Ziva stirred, squinting her eyes and lifting her head in a pretend state of confusion. "Who's there?" she mumbled.

Vincent asked, "Who are you?"

Ziva blinked her eyes, pretending to focus on the two men. "I work this hotel. If you want my business, you'll have to wait your turn."

Michel smiled at his brother and said, "And you were worried about him. He made his way home, found himself a woman, and is now sleeping it off." Flipping the light back off, he said to Ziva, "Go back to sleep, Honey. If we need you, we'll call."

Closing the door behind them, Michel said, "We'll come back tomorrow morning and give him the good news. Won't he be surprised to learn that he's been promoted?"

When she heard the suite door close, she got out of bed, wrapped a sheet around her, and listened at the door.

Seeing his agent standing there in nothing but a white sheet is when Gibbs told the agents to cut the feed to the plasma TV.

Satisfied that they had indeed left the suite, she quickly dressed, found her gun and badge, covered Tony with a blanket, and marched back over to command central. "Thanks for leaving me there, McGee!"

Tim stammered, hoping she wouldn't kill him. "I—I didn't want to—I—" He didn't know what to say to her but Fornell, experienced in soothing irate agents, said, "Your quick thinking quite possibly saved your partner's life. Good job, Officer David."

When she thought about it, he was probably right. Had they seen the tray on the table and no extra people around, that would have aroused suspicion, and that suspicion just might have forced the brothers to start asking questions, and at any point, Tony could have gone from hero to dead Fed in a matter of minutes. A deadly turn of events.

She eyed her colleague and then relinquished her anger. It wasn't like she was all that angry to begin with, but she didn't like having to improvise in such a compromising way.

"Think of it this way, Ziva," McGee finally said, getting his wits about him. "When Tony wakes up, he'll be mad as hell that he slept through you lying in bed with him."

That was of little consequence. However…, a slow smile crept across her face as she realized that if she played it right, she could have some fun with that piece of information. "You may be onto something, McGee."

*************************************8

Gibbs leaned back in his chair and salvaged one last sip of coffee. He didn't mind it strong, and he didn't mind it bitter, but he did mind it cold. He moved quietly to the kitchen for a refill. Tonight, he didn't work on his boat, he didn't even go home. In fact, he never left the hotel. He couldn't bring himself to leave his agent.

He hadn't taken his eyes off him since McGee and Ziva put him in bed. Tony's night started out peaceful enough, but two hours into his sleep, he became restless. It reminded him of his own life, years earlier when he couldn't sleep and his nights were restless, and endless. He worried about Tony. He'd seen him angry, he'd seen him scared, and he'd seen him worried, but he had never seen him quite like he was tonight. He also kept replaying what Tony had said to Secretary Jarvis, and the way he had said it. If ever there was venom in his voice, it was with Jarvis. 'You don't own me anymore,' is what he said. Is that what Jarvis told him earlier? Did he actually coerce Tony into doing that Black Op mission last year? And if so, why hadn't he seen it?

Jarvis and Vance had left soon after Ziva returned, but Jarvis was only interested in hearing what the brothers were going to say to Tony in the morning. If he had any intention of pulling DiNozzo, he kept it to himself. He didn't even acknowledge the comment. Vance did. Vance should pull him, and soon, before these FBI run operations cost him an agent.

"Can't sleep?"

Gibbs turned around and accepted the presence of Fornell by pouring an extra cup of coffee into a Styrofoam cup and handing it to him. "The better question would be: are you thinking about pulling my agent?"

Fornell didn't like the sound of that. They had literally come too far to walk away now. But what Gibbs didn't know what that he'd already lost one man to this particular crime syndicate, and he had no intentions of losing any more. This undercover operation was actually being run better than any operation he'd been associated with in the past ten years. They were physically closer to their agent than they'd ever been on previous missions, they had acquired more evidence in a shorter period of time than on any previous mission, and the undercover agent involved was being monitored closer than ever before, _by three law enforcement agencies_ noless! But there would be no convincing Gibbs of that. Fornell took the hot coffee and followed him back into the living area. Money was always tight so night time shift agents were usually scarce, but not tonight. The security cameras were being monitored by six agents who kept a watchful eye over twelve monitors.

"The FBI must be coughing up some bucks for all these guys," Gibbs said. "Usually we're lucky to have two."

Fornell shrugged. "Working with other agencies has its perks." In reality, working with other agencies was tenuous, at best, and downright dangerous, at worst. And if the agent at the center, the one doing all the heavy lifting, isn't even one of your own, then you can be sure the I's are dotted and the t's are cross because the bottom line is, if you ever wanted cooperation again, you had better keep that agent safe and sound. That was Fornell's Number 1 Rule. "Just making sure nothing happens to DiNotzo. We've invested a lot in him. Can I assume he's going to be okay after what happened at dinner?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"I don't ever recall seeing him as agitated as I saw him tonight."

"You'd be agitated too if the guy sitting next to you just got his head bashed in."

"I don't want to pull him, Jethro. He's gotten this far, which is farther than anyone else has ever gotten. To pull him now would only give us a partial victory, and I don't need to tell you that a partial victory is no good. I—no, WE, meaning the FBI, CIA and NCIS—want to do maximum damage to these organizations."

"And _my_ agent just happens to be your best bet at accomplishing all this?"

"Yep, DiNotzo's our best bet, and right now, he's our only shot at winning this war."

Gibbs studied the screen where his agent slept. He tossed and turned and twitched and jerked. At this rate, he wasn't going to be in very good shape in the morning, and on a job like this, you had to bring your A-game every second of every day.

After studying the screens, Fornell set his cup down and straightened his shirt.

"Where're you going?"

"To pay our man a visit."

Gibbs stepped past him and said, "I'll go." Briefly checking exterior monitors and ensuring nothing was unusual, he unlocked the connecting door and went into Tony's suite.

Fornell picked up his coffee cup and smiled to himself, "Sometimes, Jethro, you make it too easy."

Gibbs stared at his agent a moment before he approached. There was considerable sweat glistening on his face that didn't show up on the screens. "Tony?"

Fornell watched him on one of the small LED monitors from the safety of command central.

DiNozzo moaned and rolled away from the voice.

"Tony?" Gibbs repeated, and followed it with a gentle shake to his shoulder.

He jerked awake, confused, "What!"

"Take it easy," Gibbs soothed, "It's just me." Then he gave Tony a minute to figure out who 'me' was and what was happening.

"Hey, Boss. What's wrong? Are we pulling out?"

"No, we're not pulling out, unless you want to. And, nothing's wrong—except you're not getting much sleep tonight."

Tony rubbed a hand down his face and sat up against the headboard. "Every time I close my eyes, I see… _it_."

Gibbs pushed Tony's legs away and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What's worse is I also hear the sound, and then I feel the pieces of …" he shivered, keeping the images at bay. "I can't get away from it."

"There's nothing wrong with having nightmares over what happened tonight. Ducky would probably even say it's normal."

Tony exhaled, forbidding his mind from replaying the scene every time he blinked.

"I'll be right back," Gibbs said. And thirty seconds later he returned with a cup half full of dark brown liquid. "Here. This should help."

Tony went to take a sip, but stopped short. Lifting his eyes, he looked at his boss suspiciously.

Gibbs answered the look, "It's just black coffee, nothing more."

He picked up where he left off and took a sip, allowing the liquid to awaken his senses.

Gibbs sat back down and said, "You said something tonight that caught my attention. You told Secretary Jarvis: 'You don't own me anymore.' Whad'ya mean by that?"

Tony inhaled, looking embarrassed and guilty all at once. He looked at the clock and it was almost three. Since he couldn't sleep, and his boss looked liked he wasn't going anywhere, he might as well tell the story. "There was a time during my last op for the SECNAV that I was willing to quit NCIS. I felt like I was being placed in a box with nowhere to turn, isolated from you, Ziva…McGee. Jarvis was being deceitful and not at all up front about what he knew, and I felt like I'd become his personal lackey. I hated being played, but when I confronted him, he shut me down. If I recall correctly, his exact words were, 'Don't screw with me. I own you. Know it. Accept it. It comes with the detail.' And then he just walked away, never really giving me a chance to respond."

Gibbs listened, knowing that talking was critical, but this, from a guy who talked a lot but usually said nothing of significance, was important. Tony was smart that way.

"I guess I let my emotions get the better of me when I told him to fuck off."

Gibbs smiled, "Hard not to, under the circumstances." Then he sobered and pointedly asked, "Do you want me to pull you?"

Tony paused, allowing the words to sink in. He fully understood how deep he was in, and he also fully appreciated how rare this was. From strictly a law enforcement perspective, this was an incredible accomplishment. "No, I guess not. I know I've probably gotten farther inside the DiCarlo family than anyone else, and I know that what I've done is not easily duplicated. Besides, we just got names in the sleeper cell."

Gibbs wasn't one to linger. As he was leaving, he heard, "Hey, Boss?"

He stopped and turned.

"I have a vague memory of Ziva. Did she get in bed with me tonight?"

Gibbs smiled, debated a second on whether or not to answer, and then walked away. It was good to know that his agent had something else he could focus his mind on.

************************************8

Command Central was crowded. With the promotion of Anthony DiNozzo to DiCarlo's inner circle, the success of the mission had gotten the heads of all agencies excited. Eight weeks into the operation and they had video of DiCarlo murdering Villanova, but more importantly, they had a confirmed name connected to the terrorist cell, Ahmed Abu-Wahib and his Freedom for America group. The CIA and FBI were working all angles, from New York to Afghanistan, and from Baltimore to Illinois. The CIA had identified Abu-Wahib and was completing a dossier on him and his associates; the FBI was figuring out the money laundering scheme and identifying current and future Mafia personnel. By any measure, if it were to all end now, the mission would be considered a resounding success.

Jarvis was on the phone with his FBI and CIA counterparts, so Gibbs, Fornell, and Kort heard only his side of the three way conversation. Strangely, Jarvis had declined video conferencing and this aroused suspicion in both Gibbs and Fornell.

"We agreed to focus on this one terrorist cell," Jarvis said, obviously in response to something he didn't like hearing. "I realize that. I also realize that NCIS is putting up the greatest risk here, gentlemen. Our agent has been bumped up the ranks and statistically, no federal agent has kept his cover this long, which means we're playing on borrowed time. Specifically, my agent is playing on borrowed time."

Fornell and Gibbs exchanged glances. It was a rare moment when the head of an agency actually put the life of an agent ahead of the mission.

"Agreed," Jarvis said, but to what he just agreed was anyone's guess. And then the conversation ended and he slid his phone back inside his breast pocket.

"Sir?" Gibbs asked, wondering why Vance wasn't here to run interference.

"—Agent DiNozzo will be fine," Jarvis said, cutting him off. "It's been a week since his promotion and that unfortunate incident involving Villanova, and he seems to be handling it. The CIA desperately wants another name. They think there is a sleeper cell in New York and Abu-Wahib can identify at least one person in it."

"With all due respect, Sir, shouldn't we concentrate on the one known target before we get involved in taking down another?"

"Keep me posted," he said, leaving the room and ignoring the question.

Ziva leaned over to McGee and whispered, "What does that mean: 'playing on borrowed time'?"

"It means that any day Tony could be killed."

"By that definition, we are all 'playing on borrowed time'."

McGee further clarified, "Only on this mission, Tony will most likely die doing this assignment."

Ziva blinked, trying to grasp the severity of the statement. She went back to her monitor, studying it intently. But to McGee, it looked as if she wasn't even seeing it.

Fornell pulled out a file and quietly walked into the kitchen. Gibbs followed, leaving Kort to his own business.

Away from the group, Fornell said, "We have enough information to take down the DiCarlo clan. The evidence we have would send Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. to the chair."

"What good would that do? His son is poised to take over."

Fornell pursed his lips, "Work with me here, Jethro. I'm trying to come up with a pitch to end this operation."

"The brass won't agree to anything until each agency has what it wants."

"So how do you propose we speed things up?"

"Since when have you been so concerned about my agent?"

"Do you know how many people will work with me when word gets out that I let an undercover agent get killed?" Shaking his head slowly, he continued, "It's a career killer for sure."

Gibbs saw right through the façade and said, "You're lying, Tobias."

Deflated, Fornell tossed the file on the counter. "The SECNAV is right. DiNotzo's life expectancy has just plummeted. Besides, I'm not as cold of an SOB as most people think."

"Yeah, you are," Gibbs countered.

"All right, so I am. But I am personally motivated on this one. If anything happens to DiNotzo, I'll never have your cooperation again. And despite what you may think, when our agencies work together, we make one hell of a difference."

Gibbs wanted Tony pulled too; in fact, he'd spent every minute since Tony was taken months ago thinking about an exit strategy. Unfortunately, none had come to him that didn't jeopardize everything they'd already put in place. "What else do we have?"

Fornell looked through his papers and replied, "A lot of circumstantial evidence; not a lot that will hold up in court."

"The way I see it, we need two more pieces of information before our Directors will consider shutting this operation down. We need the money laundering scheme and we need another name."

Fornell nodded.

Gibbs leaned back. His brain was in overdrive. Pieces of the op were scattered and strewn about, but bringing everything together in a coherent plan was the key to getting Tony out. How much time did they have, and how much time did they need? How much longer could Tony go undetected? He's run the gambit and each day poses a greater threat than the day before. In theory, he could stay undercover indefinitely, but the higher up he moves in such an organization, the more exposure he'll have to people who might recognize him, or remember his picture, or just accuse him of being a Fed and do to him what he effectively did to Villanova. At some point, an undercover agent's luck runs out. They could mitigate that problem by inserting another operative to watch his back, but even that had its drawbacks.

Gibbs leaned forward again, "You got another agent like Dalton that you can spare?"

Fornell scrunched his brow and asked, "Why? She isn't good enough for you?"

"We've already used her. We need someone new, unknown, who can back up Tony."

Fornell rubbed his chin; they had lots of agents who could do that, but would the higher ups approve such a move? And did he? "Why do you want to push someone else out there in the spot light? Isn't it bad enough that we have one agent to protect, and now you want two?"

"I want a backup. Someone who has Tony's back—"

"—I'll do it."

Fornell and Gibbs turned to see Ziva standing in the doorway.

"I will go in as Tony's backup. They already think I am a prostitute, so it would be easy enough to continue that cover."

"I was hoping the FBI or CIA would ante up a person."

"Gibbs, there is no better person than me to back up my partner."

Multiple conversations ran through his brain at warp speed until eventually Gibbs cocked his head. He realized he actually liked the idea of Ziva going in. He trusted her, and knew she was quite capable of handling herself. But most importantly, Tony trusted her and it just might be the right combination to speed things up.

Fornell interjected, "I'd be hard pressed to find someone as qualified as Agent David on such short notice. Besides, the bureaucratic paperwork on something like this is astronomical. I'm fine with it if you are."

"Of course you're fine with it, Tobias. Just like the CIA will be fine with it. Once again, it's NCIS taking all the risk."

"I realize that, and I understand if you nix the idea. But it'll take some time before I can requisition someone of Dalton's caliber. If you want an insertion soon, I think Agent David is our best bet."

The solution was a double-edged sword, and Gibbs knew it. He recognized the determined stance on Ziva's face, and knew she wouldn't easily be dismissed. On the other hand, he felt like Ziva was the only agent qualified to actually look out for Tony. "How soon can you be ready?"

"I am ready now."

*************************************8

It never ceased to amaze Gibbs just how resourceful the FBI could be. He was beginning to think that they had more at their fingertips than the CIA did, but nobody liked to make such accusations and run the risk of upsetting the balance of understanding.

"How do I look?"

The men admired the brown-eyed Israeli. She walked into the room from the bedroom where an FBI makeup artist had transformed the NCIS agent into a streetwalker; a rather high class street walker at that. She wore a white button down shirt that was tucked into a black leather mini shirt. Her four inch, black stiletto leather boots came up to her thighs, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders in a mass of waves.

"Wow," McGee said, pretty much voicing what every other male in the room was thinking.

Dalton narrowed her eyes and toned, "If this had been planned out properly, you would have been used to seduce Villanova and I'd be going in like I was originally supposed to do."

"And you would have my partner's back?"

"Of course."

Ziva was very happy it worked out this way and ignored the fuming woman. Dalton would never have had Tony's back the way she will. Ignoring her, she turned to her boss and asked, "How do you want to do this?"

Fornell jumped in and answered, "We won't have the benefit of the gym on this one. I recommend the insertion take place outside the hotel. We don't want anyone getting suspicious, and DiNotzo won't be expecting you so he'll be as shocked as the others when you approach him," Fornell answered, having designed enough of these surprise meetings to know the best route to take.

"What about Metro PD? Prostitutes are usually herded away from a hotel like this," McGee said.

"They'll leave her alone. I've already talked to them."

Stephen Long, the young and naïve agent, interrupted, "Sir, I've been waiting for a response to your message but haven't gotten one."

Fornell didn't expect one. He had sent a messenger to hand deliver an envelope to the head of the FBI. Inside the envelope contained a handwritten note outlining their plan. There would be no phone call or email used on something like this, even though those methods were a much faster way of communicating. Fornell already knew how his boss would respond, just like he knew how the Head of the CIA would react. Neither would care since it wasn't one of their own people going in. It was the Director of NCIS that they worried about, and Vance was Gibbs' problem. "Keep monitoring the channel and let me know if anything changes."

Kort lowered his newspaper and said, "The CIA officially has no objections. If you want to risk the life of another agent, you're more than free to do just that."

Whether it was his tone or his choice of words, McGee didn't know, but something hit a chord with him and he retorted, "We're not risking her life, Kort. We're sending in a highly trained operative to mitigate the dangers to Tony. I don't expect you to understand that given your track record on mitigating the CIA's problems."

Tensions were high and feelings were strong. Kort raised an eyebrow to the usually quiet computer geek, and Gibbs smiled in admiration at the growth of his agent.

Fornell cleared his throat and began, "I think we can all agree that sending in Agent David is a prudent measure at this point in the operation. We can also agree that we recognize that NCIS is taking on more than their share of the load, and while we recognize the risk being taken, it's best that we leave our differences to our directors."

If a room could collectively exhale, it just did. McGee nodded and Kort went back to reading his newspaper. The other agents returned to their screens and the tension dissipated as Fornell knew it would.

Eventually, there was nothing more to do except wait for Gibbs to give the final 'okay'. "Where's your gun?"

When she set her toe on the coffee table, every agent's eyes went unconsciously up her leg. But when she reached up under her skirt and pulled out a small caliber hand gun, they quickly averted back to their screens. From the other boot, she pulled an eight inch stiletto directly from its scabbard, which had been sewn into the seam.

He checked her once more from head to toe, then nodded and said, "Go on. Watch your back as close as you watch Tony's."

"Always." As she left the room, every man with eyes watched her backside, including the team leaders.

Agent Dalton rolled her eyes at the ogling men.

**************************************8

Tony sat in the back of the limousine, thinking. He had steadily and without incident moved up the ranks in the DiCarlo syndicate, and everyone seemed to like him save for one person, Vincent, Michel's oldest brother. There was an uneasiness whenever he was around, and Tony decided to ask Michel about it.

"Why doesn't your brother like me?"

"He doesn't like anyone. Don't take it personally; that's just his job. Pops keeps a tight rein over the operation and Vincent's job is to make sure nothing stands in the way of business."

"Well, it just seems to me that I'm not his favorite person."

"It might have something to do with the fact that you did his job for him where Bobby Villanova was concerned. Vincent's supposed to know these things about our top lieutenants, and here you come in and show him up. He's probably still stinging from that."

It made sense, but if that's Vincent's job, then Tony had his work cut out for him.

"I got another question for you?"

"Yeah?" he answered, putting down the paper he was reading.

"Why do you want to go into the family business?"

Michel stared out the window at the street lamps and well-lit monstrous gothic architecture of the DC office buildings. "I don't. I never wanted to do what my father does, but it's not like I have a choice. If you're a DiCarlo, you go into the business."

"But your father seems like a reasonable man. Have you told him how you feel?"

Michel stared into space. "Once."

From the forlorn expression, Tony could figure that it was probably one time too many. Changing the subject to something more palatable, he asked, "If you weren't going into the family business, what would you be doing?"

Michel brightened, then hesitated, and eventually answered, "I've always wanted to teach." Expecting some crude reaction, he paused and waited. "What, no uncontrollable laughter? No snickering?"

Tony shrugged, "Why would I laugh?"

"My brothers do. They think I'm crazy, but I've always wanted to teach English at a middle school."

Hearing that, Tony did laugh and said, "Now that's gotta be worse than going into the family business."

Michel chuckled along with him and added, "You're probably right. What would you be doing now if you weren't here?"

Tony leaned his head back and enjoyed the gentle rocking motion of the limo. "I'd like to be a film critic."

Michel nodded in appreciation. After spending the past two months together and remembering all the movie references he'd made, he could definitely see it. "You sure have seen a lot of movies."

They rode another couple miles in silence and then Tony said, "But there's no money in it, and I've grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle."

"I hear that. No money in teaching either; bust your ass for a measly annual salary." They shared another laugh as their driver pulled to the curb outside their hotel. They were riding in the third of three limousines; the first one held three of Michel's brothers while the middle one held his father and oldest brother, Vincent, and Vinny's right-hand man, Lou.

Tony had learned quite a bit about the money laundering scheme this past week and he had enough to give specifics to Fornell; however, the DiCarlos were leaving the hotel and were insisting that he vacate it as well in favor of their estate just outside the city in the rolling hills of Maryland. His insights had proven valuable on more than one occasion and Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. wanted him closer. Making the move to his estate would ensure his vulnerability, something he wasn't quite ready for, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could delay his answer. He knew the Mafia well enough to know that invitations were really orders to be followed.

As they were walking up the steps to the five star hotel, Michel began, "Pops has got it in his head that you should check out of this place. You know, spending too much time in any one location gets the Feds all worked up."

"—Hello again."

Tony and Michel turned in the direction of the sultry voice and saw the beautiful brunette. She smiled seductively and cooed, "I've been waiting for you."

Michel smiled deviously, "Oh yeah, I remember you."

"You do?" Tony asked, brows furrowed.

"Yeah. She was in your room the night Vincent and I dropped by."

Stunned, Tony kept his mouth shut.

Ziva offered, "I remember you, too. He was more than a little inebriated when you saw him that night."

Michel laughed out loud at the understatement, and at Tony's expression. "Don't look so shocked, Buddy. You deserved it after Villanova's fateful night. How much you charging these days, Honey?"

"A thousand dollars a night. More for specifics."

"A high-dollar call-girl. Don't usually see your kind around here; normally we have to call ahead and make arrangements to get someone like you. Tony, you must bring out the best of people."

Still stunned, he nodded, "You have no idea."

"You mind if I have her tonight? I could use some release after the week we've had."

Tony looked her up and down and answered, "Actually, I do mind. I think I want her," and he slipped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her inside the hotel. "Good ones are hard to find, you know, but I'll tell you what I'll do. When I'm finished with her, you can have her."

"And take your seconds?" he yelled back, "no thanks. I'll get my own."

"Who do we have here?" Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. asked as he watched the two walk towards him.

Tony began introductions, "This is… what's your name again?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes slightly and answered, "People around here call me The White Rose."

"Okay, this is The White Rose."

The head of the Mafia family kissed her hand like she was royalty. Flattered, Ziva raised her eyebrows, "Finally, a man who knows how to treat a lady."

Vincent also studied her, but he seemed much more skeptical. "We don't usually have working women around these parts."

Ziva demurred, "We have always been here, but we are quite adept at keeping a low profile. Nothing kills a good week like sharing a cell with your competitors."

Still skeptical, Vincent countered, "These hotels can spot a call-girl a mile away. You mean to tell me they just let you hang around?"

Ziva felt the tension in the air. She discreetly looked around the lobby before answering, "I have a special arrangement here. They don't bother me, and in return, I make myself available to some of their more prominent guests."

Tony put his arm around her shoulders again and said, "I guess I must fall into that category." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a card and said, "Here's my room key. Why don't you make yourself comfortable; I'll join you in about an hour."

She slipped it from his hands and left, knowing all the men were watching her glide away. Mr. DiCarlo clapped him on the back and said, "You sure know how to pick 'em. Haven't seen a girl that beautiful since I was working Chicago. Shall we convene the meeting? My private dining hall is waiting."

"Sure," Tony nodded, watching his partner disappear into the elevator. He wasn't very happy that she was brought into the mix. Someone must have felt like he needed backup, which wasn't the best of signs.

At the meeting, it was revealed that the hit on Rolf Guidinetti went down without incident, and that Uncle Dan, as well as the rest of the family, could now rest in peace knowing his murder had been avenged. The detailed report of Guidinetti's death would hit the papers tomorrow, which meant the security risk to his family was going to rise: Guidinetti would seek revenge. For the next two weeks, DiCarlo ordered everyone under lock and key at his estate in Frederick, Maryland.

The meeting was adjourned and as Tony was walking away, he heard his name.

He turned, changing his frown into a smile, "Yes, Mr. DiCarlo?"

"I know that you've been resisting my invitation to come and stay with us at the house."

'The house?' Tony thought. "Yes, well, I… um…"

"I didn't understand before, but I do now. Why don't you bring her along? She would make a welcome addition to the scenery."

Given Ziva's guise, he wasn't sure if that was such a good idea. "I don't know, Mr. DiCarlo. She's not someone I would want to share."

"I understand. Well, think about it." And in Gibbs-fashion, he just walked away.

By the time he'd gotten to his room, he was angry, and he rapped a little too loud on the door.

She opened it and said, "Jeez, Tony—"

He brushed past her but before he could rap on the interior door, Gibbs was already standing in the door jam.

"Boss, why did you insert Ziva?"

Fornell slipped between Gibbs and the door jam and answered, "Because Agent Dalton was out of the picture."

"You know what I mean!"

"We've never had a man get this far and move up the organization like you have. The higher up you get, the thinner the ice. Right now, the ice is pretty damn thin, and I don't want it cracking underneath your weight without any back up."

Gibbs added, "Vincent DiCarlo is suspicious of you. You need to steer clear of him."

"I know, which is why sending Ziva in doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense. They won't be able to connect her to any federal agency, and a prostitute makes for the perfect cover." Gibbs needed his agent to buy into the idea, else, he'd be distracted, and that was never a good thing. "Listen, Tony, we've got a lot of information so far—good information. But you know that we're still missing one key piece that will wrap this case up."

"I know—the name of the terrorist running the sleeper cell in New York."

"So you know how important Ziva could be in getting that name. The second you get it, you're out of there."

Fornell added, "We'll take care of the rest."

All eyes were on him as he internalized the information. He did not want to have to look out for Ziva, but it was nice to have someone around other than the Mafia. If it was going to be like this, then the FBI was going to pay. "Okay. But you give her an FBI credit card to buy some clothes. She's not walking around an estate filled with DiCarlo's men looking like that."

Eyebrows rose at his protective nature. Even McGee, who was listening from his station in front of a monitor, was amused. Fornell shrugged, "Deal. She can go out tomorrow and pick up a few things."

Tony grinned but only Gibbs caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye and his unmistakable urge to say something. Urging him along, he said, "What?"

Tony nodded his head rapidly, "This is just like Pretty Woman. You know, the 1990 flick with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts?" Gibbs walked away so he spoke louder, "She's a prostitute that's really pretty, and Richard Gere's character wants her to accompany him to a business meeting, so he gives her a credit card to buy some new clothes. Only the problem is no store will sell her anything!" he shouted at the now closed door.

Ziva was glaring at him, unable to decide if she was amused or dismayed at his comparison.

Smiling and relaxed now, he looked at her asked, "How much for a shower?"

***********************************8

The estate was just that. An hour and a half drive outside the city landed them on a hundred and fifty acre horse farm. The grounds were lush and rolling and horses dotted the landscape. The house was new and had barely been lived in. It was originally built with the money of a company whose boy-genius CEO could make a computer sing and dance, but had no clue how to balance a spreadsheet. Subsequently, he lost everything when the market took a turn.

The house had three sections to it. The West Wing, as it was called, housed the family and was off limits to all but blood. The East Wing housed the guests and embodied all the conveniences of a luxury hotel, similar to the one they'd just vacated. There were six bedrooms on the second floor and five on the third floor. The first floor held a sitting room, a game room, and conference room as well as a small study, which, upon inspection, housed items that were usually found on the clearance table. The main section of the house was referred to as The Central. The Central was extravagantly decorated with its cathedral ceilings and wall murals and included such items as an original Strauss chandelier made of thousands of perfectly cut Swarovski crystals, a genuine Picasso (from his Blue period), and a multitude of other pieces deemed of significant value and worth. This was also where the kitchen, dining room, entertainment room, formal ball room, and library (to which there were few books to be found) were located. Leaving the house and heading out back was an unparalleled view of the rolling green pastures and mountains that offered a feeling of isolation and security. But a quick glance to the right, and it was party time with a swimming pool, stone fire-pit, grill, and bar, heartily stocked and ready for business. Everything anyone could ever ask for was here.

Upon arrival, Michel showed them around. He particularly liked seeing his guests' expressions as he played tour guide. "You like it?"

"Like it? Why would you ever live in a hotel with this just an hour away?" Tony said, feeding into Michel's need for approval.

He shrugged, most probably because he didn't know the answer to that. "Here, let me show you to your room."

Their room was on the second floor in the East Wing and overlooked the pool and the green pastures to the north.

"I've never had a client who's owned a place like this," Ziva said, admiring the room.

"Technically," Tony said, "you still don't."

Michel laughed. "The only house rule is that you're not late for dinner, which is at 7:00pm sharp. Other than that, you're free to enjoy yourselves. Oh, and Tony, Pops has called another meeting tonight, so dress appropriately."

"But I don't have—" he stopped when Michel pointed over his shoulder. Hanging on a hook was a smoky black tuxedo. Ziva walked over and opened the closet door, then stepped back in awe. Hanging in neat rows were five women's gowns, four men's suits, and several white button-down shirts, and lined up neatly on the floor were a couple pair of men's dress shoes and several women's shoes.

Michel smiled at their reaction. "I called ahead and had your closet stocked. I got my brother, Mario, to guess your sizes… for some reason, he's pretty good at that. I know you were reluctant to stay with us so I thought I'd make your visit a little more enjoyable. There's casual stuff in the drawers. If there's anything else I can do, just let me know."

"You've done plenty, Michel," Tony said, genuinely appreciative. "More than plenty. But there is one more thing you might help me out with."

"Anything! You name it!"

Tony wrapped an arm around the shorter man's shoulders and turned him away so Ziva couldn't hear. Lowering his voice, he said, "I know from my days in Baltimore that families like to bug the rooms of their guests, and, well, I don't exactly want to see us on the internet." Tony ticked his head in Ziva's direction and added, "Bad for business, if you know what I mean."

Michel couldn't help but laugh again. He admired Tony in ways that he himself didn't understand. The man was intelligent, witty, articulate, and had street smarts like no other person in the organization. He was just plain good for his family. "Yeah, I know what you mean. We only video the grounds and the common areas; the bedrooms are off limits. BUT, every bedroom has a small microphone on the headboard. Throw a shirt on it and it becomes nearly inaudible."

"Thanks," Tony said. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have some pent up energy to release."

***********************************8

Tony and Ziva didn't want to run the risk of being overheard by strategically planted bugs, so they admired the estate and made small talk as they ambled the grounds. To Tony, every guard they passed appeared to him to be salivating when their eyes landed on his partner. This is the sort of stuff that made his work here harder, but then he'd remind himself that she was actually more capable of fending off an attacker than he was, and with that thought, he could continue talking about ordinary topics, like flowers, architecture, and design, even though he was completely and utterly bored with the conversation. Fortunately, she did most of the talking which left him free to take in the location of cameras and guards and anything else that he could commit to memory.

In a small room in The West Wing, Vincent sat in the dark watching the two stroll from room to room while chatting about mundane things like favorite meals and best birthday memories. He was looking for anything that might indicate they were not who they said they were; so far, nothing. But highly trained government spooks would produce nothing. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he just got a vibe that he didn't understand. He should have liked this handsome man, but there was something that kept niggling at his brain. Part of it was time: fast ascension was the demon of Mafia life, and Tony ascended the ranks quickly. For Michel's sake, he hoped he was wrong.

Ziva needed to talk to Tony alone, but there was nowhere to go, until she noticed it. Then she almost giddily asked, "Do you ride?"

Taken by surprise, he answered, "Ride? I ride motorcycles."

She pointed to the barn, and reiterated, "Do you ride horses?"

He paled, "Don't make me ride those things. I had a bad experience on one when I was a kid."

She took his hand and pulled him along, "Come on. Let us see if we can borrow some of the animals and ride along these beautiful grounds." As it turned out, several stable boys were tending to the equines when they entered. The barn was beautiful, but no doubt bugged, like everything else. "Excuse me," Ziva said to one of the young men carrying a pail of feed in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. "Would it be possible to ride a couple of horses today?"

He put down both pails and rubbed the sweat off his brow. "Yes, ma'am. We're always looking for someone to exercise these ponies. Are you an experienced rider?"

"Yes, I am, but I do not think my friend here is."

Tony shook his head, not at all excited about the prospect of getting up one of these half-ton animals.

Five minutes later, two horses were brought out and tethered to the fence. Ten minutes after that, they were saddled and ready to go. Tony asked, "Shouldn't there be a horn for me to hold onto?"

Ziva chuckled, "We are riding English style today, not Western." The stable boy helped Tony with his horse while Ziva easily swung up on hers.

"How come she gets the white horse and I get the brown one?" he asked the boy.

"Your horse's name is High Jinxed, but we call him High. He's very mellow and calm and the most he'll ever do if a bird flies up is perk his ears. Her horse is named White Lightning."

Ziva smiled, excited for the challenge, like being surrounded by the Mafia wasn't good enough. "You ready?"

"Does it matter?"

"No."

They followed the path the stable boy had told them about, walking single file where they had to and side by side where they could. Ziva was quick to notice the cameras mounted to the trees. She asked, "Do you think they would mind if we went off the trail? I like exploring."

"You know, for a prostitute, you sure do have a lot of experiences."

Vincent perked up when his microphones picked up the comment and amplified it.

"I grew up overseas," she said with a smile. "We were very privileged, but I do not want to talk about my childhood." She took her horse off the beaten path and made her way through the trees. Ducking low hanging branches, Tony clutched his horse's mane and hung on. Finally, they came out of the woods and into a clearing that included a small pond. Ziva scanned the place and smiled when she realized they might possibly be alone. However, she wasn't naive enough to believe that some sort of surveillance equipment wasn't lurking somewhere around this gorgeous spot.

They both dismounted and stood on the bank overlooking the water. It was beautiful, and quiet, and tranquil. It reminded Ziva of her younger days in Israel, before her parents separated. She would ride bareback through the countryside pretending to be a mythical warrior saving the world.

"What are you thinking?" Tony asked, mesmerized by her serenity and rubbing his backside.

"Just remembering another time." She ticked her head towards the horses and he understood. They tethered their mounts to a nearby bush with lush green grass nearby to graze on, and then they walked slowly around the pond. "The saddle was bugged. I saw it back at the stable," she whispered.

Tony suspected as much, but hadn't seen anything.

"We should be fine if we stay in character," she added, "and act normal."

"Normal? I wouldn't exactly call what we're doing normal."

It was the first time she felt she could talk freely, and she smiled and reached for his hand. "I've been worried about you. We all have. But you seem to be holding up fairly well."

He shrugged, "Fornell put me through the ringer and did a pretty good job of preparing me for this. I'm not sure I like you tagging along, though."

"Don't be such a big brother," she teased. "Here, let's sit down."

He looked around. They had made it halfway around the pond and could look back on the horses. A small patch of trees was nearby but mostly the area was clear. If anyone were watching them, they certainly wouldn't be able to hear their conversation. He did as he was told and sat down near the bank of the water on a plush carpet of grass. She stepped in front of him and sat down between his legs, leaning back against his chest.

"I could grow to like this," he cooed softly into her ear.

Smiling, she cooed back, "Do not get used to it. If they have cameras sophisticated enough to read lips, this is the only way to interfere with that."

He was confused until she positioned his arm so it rested on his knee and she leaned back, snuggling into his shoulder. Using the crook of his elbow, he turned her head gently and leaned down to her ear, letting her hair cover his mouth. "You've done this before?"

Ignoring his question, she said, "We have a job to do, Tony. Specifically, we need to get a name."

"Ah, yes. The enigmatic sleeper cell name."

"How do you propose we get it?"

Tony pondered the question, then answered, "DiCarlo's having a family dinner tomorrow. Rumor has it he's making another announcement. Given his penchant for dramatics, I'm not too excited about attending another one of his family dinners."

"You could break into his study and go through his papers."

He laughed at her simplicity. "That's not a bad idea. I'll just bypass the security with my McGee-like wizardry and ask the guards to look the other way."

"This is no joking matter," she smiled up at him, but her smile didn't include her eyes.

"I know that, Rose," he said through gritted teeth, "my point is it's not as easy as you make it out to be."

She laughed, feigning amusement at something he said. "Then we should pull out now, before something happens."

He almost couldn't resist the double entendre, but decided to let it pass in favor of devising a plan. "Nothing's going to happen if you behave yourself."

"Except I might kill one of the wives here."

"What? Why?"

"Maria. She just won't shut up! It's like being back in the squad room with YOU, only she keeps talking about the diamond necklace or the diamond ring or the diamond broach her husband keeps promising to buy her. She's like a broken song."

"Record. She's like a broken record."

"Have you heard her, too?"

"Sometimes, Rose, you're like the pet I never had. All excited, yet not really understanding a word I'm saying."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think we should go. If you want me to break into his study, I'll need to see how it's laid out."

He wriggled out from behind her and stood up. Then he reached down and pulled her up and into his arms. She wrapped herself around his neck and said, "I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

He leaned down, allowing his lips to get within a hair's breadth of hers, and said, "If they're watching, and I'm sure they are, Tony Villani would kiss his girl right now." He pressed his lips against hers and was pleasantly surprised when she reciprocated.

***********************************8

MTAC had become the unofficial meeting place for the operation again. Technically, the FBI maintained control, but nothing like MTAC existed in the Hoover Building, so NCIS is where people convened. The darkened room held Kort, Fornell, and Gibbs. McGee and Abby were at the console along with two other technicians. Vance was not present.

"McGee, are we in yet?"

Knowing his boss didn't like to hear bad news, he stuttered before beginning, "Ah, no-no, Boss, not yet."

"Why not?"

"Well, they are wired to their own network. There's nothing for us to hack into."

"Are you telling me that Ziva and DiNozzo are flying blind?" he said, directing his question at Fornell.

Feeling compelled to answer, Fornell explained, "Our technicians are at the house as we speak splicing into their network. They have very sophisticated stuff out there and it's not just a matter of capturing an IP address. They don't use WiFi either—everything's hardwired—so we have to insert a relay box that'll transmit data like WiFi."

McGee knew of the technology but also knew a sophisticated group could counter that easily enough. "Won't they have frequency sensors to pick up on data being transmitted wirelessly?"

"That's the problem; they do have frequency sensors so we've had to install another device that cloaks the transmission."

"We can do that?" McGee said, eyes wide at the thought.

Fornell smiled, "Why, yes we can, McGee. We can actually do quite a lot of things that I think you'd find interesting. If you ever get bored here, drop me your resume and I'll pass it along."

Kort enjoyed the awkwardness that the comment created. He'd love to bust up "Team Gibbs". If the truth be known, he'd love to have someone like Ziva David on his payroll. The things he could accomplish with a talent like hers, but he was afraid she may have already been tainted by Gibbs and his unique approach to fighting terrorists. It wasn't a bad one, just a different set of codes to live by, or die by.

Gibbs ignored the hunting tactics and barked, "How long before we have a visual?"

Fornell's phone beeped and he grinned, "Is now soon enough?"

McGee punched on the keyboard and eventually feeds of the compound began populating the screens. "How many cameras are there?"

Fornell studied his phone, "The message I got says there's between 20 and 25 cameras, and over 100 audio drops. You got the bandwidth to handle that amount of traffic?" he asked.

Abby grinned, "We can handle 10 times that amount if we had to." She clicked away on her computer and before she was done, she had partitioned three screens into smaller squares until all 25 camera feeds were being displayed. Then she partitioned the remaining two screens into visual audio files with the green line wiggling its way across it. A couple lines were bouncing all over so she figured those must be the common areas. The challenge would be to figure out where the audio was coming from.

"We're in," McGee said, "all camera and audio bug signals are being relayed directly to us. This is almost as good as a satellite feed," he mused.

"And not nearly as expensive," Fornell added.

"Where are Ziva and DiNozzo?"

While the others were looking at the partitioned screens, Abby was able to click through each screen on the monitor at her console. She could see detail that the others couldn't. "Oh my goodness," she said.

"What?" Gibbs said.

"I think that's them coming up on horseback."

She enlarged the screen and sure enough, they could make out the figures of Tony and Ziva as they rode their horses back to the barn.

***********************************8

Tony's phone rang and he looked at the number. "Oh, geez," he said as he and Ziva walked back to the house from their afternoon ride.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"My father. What could he want?" He pressed the green button and said, "Dad?"

"Hello, Junior, how are you?"

"I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine too. I'm getting ready to leave for St. Bart's. I've got several investors I'm meeting there to close a very lucrative deal."

"I'm a little busy here right now, Dad, so have a safe trip. I'll call you in a few—"

"—Wait a minute, Junior, I just finished talking to our friend, Leroy, and he wanted me to tell you something."

This got Tony's attention.

"Leroy wanted you to know that because of the move, his phone is being disconnected, so if you need to talk to him, you have to call me. He also says the move's been tough, but he told the workers to hurry up and finish because he wanted his house back."

"I see…" Tony said, interpreting the cryptic message. He suspected that McGee had hacked into the compound and was watching him talk to his father right now. He gave a thumbs-up signal to Ziva and said, "Thanks, Dad, I'll keep that mind. You have a good trip, okay?"

Tony clicked off and mumbled, "Gibbs wants us to wrap things up here."

"So do I. We will get the information we need tonight."

Tony's gut churned as he walked up the path. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Hey!" Michel waved them over from pool side.

"Hi!" Ziva waved back.

Michel met them half way and said, "I've been looking for you, Tony. My brothers and I want to know if you want some target practice."

Ziva almost answered, but then caught herself.

Tony shrugged, "Sure, why not? What's the target?"

"You'll see. Rose, the other wives are by the pool. You can join them."

This time, she opened her mouth to protest, but he had whisked Tony away so quickly, she hadn't had time to formulate words. She looked over at the pool and saw Maria finger waving at her.

Tony sat in the back seat of an open top black Jeep Wrangler while Vincent drove and Michel sat in the passenger seat. Nicholas was already in the seat beside him. He held onto the roll bar as they bounced their way through pastures, woods, gulches, and streams before coming to a stop in front of an old shack.

"C'mon!" Michel said as he jumped out.

The place was a perfect place to hold prisoners. Suddenly Tony didn't feel so good anymore. The door to the shack flung open and Mario and Frank came out. "It's about time!"

"We had to wait for Cowboy here to get back from his horsey ride."

Mario lamented, "Tell me that wasn't your idea?"

"Not my idea," Tony said.

"When you gonna let the rest of us try out your hooker?" Frank said.

Michel cuffed his younger brother across the head and said, "We don't have 'hookers' here, Frank. Here…we have guests."

"Sorry, man, just thought I'd ask."

Tony clapped him on the back and whispered in his ear, "When I'm done with her, she's all yours."

Frank smiled appreciatively and said, "C'mon, follow me."

Tony wondered what sort of nefarious scheme they were up to as they walked around the side of the cabin. Lined up neatly on a small table were all different kinds of rifles and handguns. "What are we going to shoot?"

Mario pointed towards a clearing and said, "One of us is walking way down there and pulling the string."

"Skeet shooting?"

They laughed, "What'd you think we were gonna shoot?

A wave of relief swept over him and he smiled, "I didn't know. With my past, I wouldn't have been shocked if you had a rival family tied up out here somewhere."

"That's just barbaric," Frank said, redeeming himself from his earlier comment. "Brother Vincent set this up a few years back. He thought we should all know how to handle a gun. Dad never approved of learning, said there were always people out there willing to do that sort of work so long as we let 'em. So he doesn't know about this."

Tony felt the oldest brother's eyes boring into him; he had to be careful how he played this. "Okay, I'm game."

"You ever shoot before?"

Tony deadpanned, "I worked in Baltimore, of course I've shot a gun before, although I have to admit I was far better at dodging than shooting." He picked up a rifle and admired the barrel.

"That's a Winchester PS5090. You have a good eye for nice hardware," Vincent said. Mario started to make the hike towards the box but Vincent called him back, "I'll go. You stay here and practice."

Vincent was out of earshot range when Mario said, "He's the best shot of all of us. We don't know who taught him, but he doesn't miss."

Tony watched him half trot and half walk up to the box and asked, "Who's the worst?"

All eyes turned and Michel sheepishly confessed, "I am. I just can't get the hang of it."

They teased him as brothers do until Vincent waved his arms indicating he was ready.

"I'll go first and show you how it's done," Mario said.

He selected a smaller version of the Winchester and loaded it with shells. He nestled its stock easily into his shoulder and leaned his head to the side, looking carefully down the barrel. Confident, he yelled, "PULL!"

The shot rang out and the plate shattered.

"Nice shot," Frank said. "I'll go." He positioned his rifle against his shoulder, leaned his head, looked down the barrel and yelled, "PULL!"

His shot rang out and the plate shattered.

"Two for Two. Not bad," Tony said, thinking he might go next, but before he could move, Nicholas had other ideas. "And up next," Tony said in his best announcer's voice, "is the man of few words, the man himself, Mr. Nicholas DiCarlo!"

Even though it made the others chuckle, it did nothing to change Nicholas' disposition. He yelled, "PULL!" and the plate shattered a nanosecond later.

"Three for three," Tony commented. "I guess it's your turn, Michel."

"I don't know why I bother, but here goes nothing." He squinted down the way before raising the rifle awkwardly to his shoulder.

Tony wondered why no one bothered to correct his stance and debated whether or not he should. In the end, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"PULL!" The shot rang out and the plate sailed through the air, landing softly in the field.

Mario nodded his head appreciatively, "You're getting closer, Mick. A few yards the other way, and you'd of hit it!"

Michel squinted down the range and nodded, "I think you may be right. I am getting closer."

"Well," Tony said, stepping up to where Michel had been standing, "I guess it's my turn." He raised the rifle he had chosen and cradled the stock in the crook of his shoulder. The cold butt felt good against his cheek and the site was beautifully aligned. The weight of the weapon was so precise that it took little to no effort to hold it steady. He took a minute to study the distance, the curve of the land, the man at the box.

"PULL!" The plate ejected and the shot rang out, but the plate flew high into the air and landed with a thud practically on top of the other one. "Damn…" he whispered, hoping no one would notice the deliberate miss.

"You just missed it!" Frank said, excited. "By a hair!"

"I thought you said you came from Baltimore," Mario said.

"I did, but like I said, I did a much better job at dodging the bullets than I did shooting them."

"Try another," Frank said, intent on getting him to hit one.

"No, I shou—"

"—Nonsense," Michel said, "try it again. It doesn't matter how many times I go, I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, as dear ole Uncle Fritz is fond of saying."

Tony steadied the rifle once more and yelled, "PULL!" This time he aimed it slightly out front, but missed the saucer again.

"For someone who looks like a natural holding that thing, you sure can't hit much," Nicholas said.

It was the first thing he'd said all afternoon and it worried Tony. "I look natural at a lot of things. It's the curse of the mug."

Nicholas had a way of spoiling their fun and Mario never liked that about his brother. If there ever was a wet rag, Nicholas was it. "Never mind him, Tony. He's always sour like that. You said you worked in Baltimore? What'd ya do?"

"I ran numbers for the Lombardi Family. I didn't have much responsibility back then."

"Did you know anyone named Phelps?"

"Mario," Frank warned. "You shouldn't be talkin' about this."

"Why not? Dad's gonna talk about it tomorrow night. I overheard him this morning talking to Phelps."

"Was he part of the Lombardi Family?" Tony asked.

Mario laughed, "Not quite. He's a cop."

The brothers studied Tony's face intently. Suddenly, Tony got the impression that coming out here and shooting was only a ruse for something deeper. He shifted easily and said, "Lombardi had half the force on his payroll, and the other half just knew to keep their mouths shut."

"He's not with the Lombardi Family any more. He's dead."

"I thought you just said your father talked to him this morning?"

"He did. He learned that Phelps was grazing on both sides of the fence. Pretty ballsy for a cop."

Tony watched Vincent jog towards them before saying, "Yeah? Well, cops aren't known for being the brightest bulb in the socket."

Vincent joined them and studied their faces. It was like he knew what they were talking about.

"Tough break for him," Frank said.

Tony let his mind drift back to that fateful dinner party where Villanova met a rather gruesome end. "Didn't your dad say he had an informant in Baltimore? Was Phelps that informant?"

No one answered, which allowed Tony's brain to work that much faster. "If Phelps was helping you and he's now dead, you're going to need another snitch on the BCPD."

"Do you have someone in mind?" Vincent asked.

Tony smiled. He knew just the man for the job. A two-bit con man who roughed up minorities just because he could and looked the other way whenever enough money was involved. He was perfect for their inside man. "I have a name of a cop who might be willing to help us, if he's still on the force."

"Who?"

Tony shook his head, "Not so fast. I said he _might_ be able to help us. He was a bad apple back in my day; he probably got himself killed by now. But in the event he's still alive and kicking, I'll let your father make contact. And… there's one other thing. You can't mention my name to him. We don't exactly see eye to eye."

For the first time, Vincent smiled a genuine smile, one that included his eyes. He clapped Tony on the back and said, "Now, if we can only get you to hit a plate…"

***********************************8

"Where have you been?" Ziva asked, thankful to be away from the wives.

"I've been out skeet shooting. Evidently, they really do shoot skeet out here."

"Dinner is in an hour and we have to be ready."

Tony showered and put on a suit. He looked up and saw her in the mirror. "Wow. You sure do dress up nicely."

"So do you." She walked up to him and straightened his tie and whispered, "Tonight, we break into DiCarlo's study."

"I already got a name of a cop that they supposedly had killed today. I gave them another name of a dirty cop, but I don't want another man's blood on my hands."

She adjusted his collar and whispered, "If we can get the name to Gibbs, he can get to him before the DiCarlo family does. There! You look better now," she said, a touch of admiration in her voice.

"Thanks."

They arrived at the banquet hall at precisely seven o'clock. Everyone was there and dressed to the hilt. Ziva clasped onto Tony's arm and gritted, "If you leave me with those ladies again, I WILL kill one of them."

Ziva had never eaten so much food in her life. She realized early on that if she had a prayer of making it to the last course, she had better take no more than a tablespoon of any one food. The conversation was light and she was thankful that she sat between Tony and Michel. Both were perfect gentlemen and she was thankful they both liked to talk about themselves, allowing her to remain a mystery. Towards the end of the meal, Vinny, Sr. and his son, Vincent, abruptly left the table. A hush fell over the room as there were very few things that could interrupt a Mafia Don's big Italian dinner with his entire family.

"What do you think that's about," Tony asked.

"I have no idea," Michel said, "but the last time this happened, we ended up taking a trip to Africa."

While Tony was contemplating that, the men returned. Seemingly unfazed by the interruption, the conversations resumed as did the endless parade of fine Italian cuisine.

By the time the last course was served, Vinny, Sr. made a surprise announcement: "I'm sorry to have to cut our evening short, but there's a small change of plans. I'm going to have to ask the ladies in the room to call it an evening.

There was a mumble of dissatisfaction among some of the women, but most accepted the request with ease and said their goodbyes.

"Are you going to be okay?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

She gave him a quick peck on the check and said, "Watch yourself."

As the door shut behind the last lady, Tony felt the feint beginnings of tremors as they slowly enveloped his body. The memory of the last dinner meeting was still front and center in his mind.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

***********************************8

"Can we get the audio any better?" Gibbs asked.

Abby was slicing and dicing as fast as her fingers could go trying to eliminate any extraneous sounds coming through the audio. "The problem is time, Gibbs. Every time I get rid of one, another one seems to take its place."

"Keep trying," he said.

Fornell watched the monitors on the screen and reflected on the dinner. "What do you think this is all about?" he said referring to the DiCarlo's leaving during dinner and then asking the women to leave.

"I have no idea," Vance answered. "But if it's anything like his last meeting, I don't want to speculate."

Kort chimed in with his thought, "I doubt he'd do the same thing again. He has a penchant for theatrics and once something is done, it's not likely he'll repeat himself."

"And exactly how do you know this?" Gibbs countered.

"Because I know a thing or two about narcissism. You don't get to be the head of a crime family without believing you're the center of the universe." He pointed at Vinny, Sr. on the monitor and said, "He's been informed about something, but whatever it is, it has more to do with the business than with family."

Since when did Kort become such an expert on Mafia affairs? He was right, of course, but that didn't stop Fornell and Gibbs from questioning him about it.

Gibbs took a seat beside Fornell and watched.

"While you're cleaning up the audio," Fornell said, "maybe you could do something about the visual. It's still fuzzy."

McGee said, "We're hi-jacking their transmission, sir, which means we're seeing a copy of a copy. With each copy, the quality degrades. In addition, DiCarlo may have installed state of the art technology throughout his estate, but he didn't invest in state of the art equipment. The hardware he's using isn't very good. I'm afraid this is the best we can get visually."

"But not the best in audio!" Abby declared as she eliminated another echo from the file which greatly enhanced the feed. "I was finally able to identify that static noise. How's this sound now?"

McGee smiled, "Better." Watching Abby work was a nice respite from the stress he experienced while watching Tony and Ziva. He knew all too well that the ice was so thin that at any moment it could crack, and he just wouldn't allow himself to think about it.

In silence, they listened in on what the head of the DiCarlo family was saying: "Now that the women folk have left, let me share with you what I just recently learned. Our radical Islamic friends have discovered my somewhat nefarious plan for making them the fall guys in the killing of Rolf Guidinetti. Seems they got tipped off by someone, and near as we can figure, that someone was a cop on our Baltimore payroll. He's been taken care of and let's just say that he won't be snitching us out to anyone else, God Rest His Soul."

Vance, Gibbs, Fornell and even Sacks all turned and looked at Kort.

He shrugged, "What can I say? We wanted to cause a riff between the family and the terrorist cell, and I saw an opportunity. I don't want to arrest a murderer; I want to take out the entire cell."

"So you told Abu-Wahib what DiCarlo was planning?" Sacks sneered.

"Don't be ridiculous. I told Jerry Phelps what was happening and he told the group…for less money than I thought possible. Evidently being a Baltimore County Police Officer pays less than dirt, so for a few dollars, he tipped them off."

"And he paid for that with his life!" Sacks snarled.

"He would be thanking me now if he could. For all the crimes he's committed as a law enforcement officer, he was looking at life in prison. I saved him from that."

"You can spin it any way you want, but you set that man up!"

"Just like Gibbs and Fornell set up Bobby Villanova?"

"—All right," Vance said, interrupting the pissing match that had begun. "Would you both just shut up long enough so we can listen to what DiCarlo has to say?"

Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. had been sitting contentedly at the head of the table. Furrowing his brow slightly, he continued, "I've had to do some damage control with Abu-Wahib. He was understandably angry with me, but I learned that he needs me as much as I need him…maybe more. He wants me to show him a better way to launder his money. He says the feds are getting closer and he doesn't want to lose any more funds."

"Sounds like they got something planned," Michel said, not knowing how right he was.

"What they have planned is none of our concern," his father said. "We are simply supplying a few alternatives to their current method of laundering money."

"How do they currently do it?" Tony asked, taking a chance that one of them might divulge some information.

DiCarlo looked at his son, Vincent, to answer. "Currently, they're using car dealerships throughout the mid-west, most in the Peoria area."

"Are you going to give them access to our laundromats?" Michel asked.

Tony's stomach flipped at the thought of learning where the DiCarlo family launders their money. This would be too good if that happened. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, "How _do_ we launder the money? I ask because giving them access to one or two of our places could surely bring in the Feds."

"Not if they follow my instructions," Vincent said.

"Instructions or no, if they make so much as a small mistake, it'll invoke a behind the scenes investigation and then your laundromat as well as your money goes up in smoke."

Vincent leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the relative newcomer to the family. "You seem to know a thing or two about this business. Why?"

Gibbs' stomach clenched.

Tony confidently leaned forward and said, "Because that's how the Lombardi family met its demise. They let two bit hoodlums, who didn't know their head from their ass, use their fronts. They withdrew too much money and they got flagged. From then on, the Lombardi family was as good as done once the Feds got involved."

Vincent leaned back and pondered this new information.

Filling the silence, an unfamiliar voice said, "Are you saying we shouldn't work with Abu-Wahib?" The voice belonged to Louie Zoelle, better known as Lou, Vinny's right hand man who rarely, if ever, spoke. Until now. "Don't you think we sort of owe him for offing Rolf and then serving him on a platter to the cops?"

"He didn't do anything the rest of us wouldn't have done in the same situation," Michel answered.

Mario jumped in next, "We don't owe that terrorist nothing!"

Frank added, "I say we cut our ties with them. We don't need the likes of those American hatin', rag-top extremists to tell us how to run our business. We already know!"

"And it just feels wrong—working with terrorists. Don't you agree Vincent?" Michel added, knowing that his older brother's opinion meant more to his father than all the others combined.

Vincent had actually been the one who wanted to work with the terrorist group in the first place because working with them had all made sense to the business side of his brain. His father was the one who hadn't wanted to bring them in. His father was old school and wasn't as confident as his oldest son. Yet, Sr. did understand the value of making such an organization, who was even more hated than the Mafia, their own personal lackeys.

"I say we give 'em Bank of America in Baltimore," Mario said. "Everyone at that bank is on our payroll—"

"—Mario!" Vincent toned, effectively shutting his brother down. The only time they talked specifics was in the study, a sealed room. Mario lowered his head, forgetting the cardinal rule.

The discussion had stalled after that making the lingering silence awkward for everyone. There was a fine line between expressing your opinion and forcing your ideas, and if the rest of Vinny's boys knew anything, they knew when to shut up and let their father and older brother think it through.

Unfortunately, Tony didn't have the same filters so it came as somewhat of a shock to all parties when he quietly said, "Why don't we steal _their_ money?"

All eyes looked at him. By their expressions, he couldn't tell if he'd crossed the line or offered up something good. About all he could do after he said it was wait out the silence.

This, DiCarlo thought, this conversation was just the sort of thing he was hoping to hear. He didn't want to work with terrorists any more than his sons did, but he did see potential value in an alliance, what he didn't know was how to exploit it. And here it came, right from the mouth of their most recent new comer. "What did you say?"

Tony cleared his voice, hesitant to repeat himself but seeing no way out, he slowly reiterated, "Why don't we steal their money? They want to use our facilities, so why don't we give 'em Bank of America? Then we go in and steal their money. A terrorist cell is nothing without funds."

"We'd be making one hell of an enemy," Mario said with a smile on his face and totally loving the idea.

Frank said, "What's one more to our ever growing list."

Vinny DiCarlo leaned back and clasped his hands across his full belly. He liked where this was going. He liked the idea of taking down a terrorist cell and he liked the idea of nurturing a relationship that he could use to bargain with if the federal government decided to come after him. But most of all, he liked the idea of getting all that money, and according to his sources, the terrorists had some serious dough coming into the states.

"I like the way you think, Tony Villani," Mr. DiCarlo said. "Tell me more."

"Don't say another word, DiNotzo," Fornell toned, saying out loud what everyone was thinking. Nothing says Fed like knowing the ins and outs of a money laundering scheme. They waited, holding their breath. McGee stared at the monitor, willing Tony to shut up; unfortunately, keeping his mouth shut was not one of his strengths.

To everyone's surprise, Tony sat back in his chair and shook his head. "Sorry, I wish I could help. All I know is what Mr. Lombardi taught me, which isn't much. And then we were busted."

***********************************8

In MTAC, there was a collective sigh of relief at Tony's response and also an excitement at learning the bank's name. Before anything was said, Fornell spoke up, "I'll get on Bank of America and start pulling records and figuring out what we have there."

Kort added, "I'll start poking around at this influx of funds: where it's coming from and when."

With nothing further to discuss, Fornell, Sacks, and Kort left, leaving Gibbs, McGee and Abby in MTAC. It was true about the study; it was the one room in the entire mansion that Abby couldn't hack into. But they now had a name and a plan. "Can they come home now?" Abby asked.

Gibbs waggled his head, "Not yet."

"I don't like this, Gibbs. I want them home."

"If they pull out now, Abby, DiCarlo will know something's up."

McGee nodded his head in agreement. "Don't worry, Abby, they'll be home in a few days, tops."

Somehow, her gut wasn't believing it.

***********************************8

Tony opened the door quietly and slipped in.

"Well?" Ziva asked.

"No way," he whispered. "Fort Knox would be easier to get into. If you think there are minions in our wing, you should try penetrating theirs. Soldiers and guards every 20 feet. They don't mess around when it comes to security."

"I did not see where there is an abundance of people here," she stated. "I do not understand why you cannot just slip past the guards and enter the study."

Tony had taken off his suit jacket and flung it over the back of a chair. Seated, he began taking off his shoes, "Be my guest, Rose. If you think you can bat your eyes and wiggle your… shoulders into that study, go ahead and try. Just remember: these men are trained to give their life for their boss because if they screw up, it'll _be_ their life."

Ziva left, wearing tight black leather pants with a red zippered jacket.

He finished hanging up his clothes and then laid down on the bed. He couldn't help but smile. If she managed to get further than him, good for her. But he knew she wouldn't and then she'd return madder than a hornet and she was most amusing when she was like that.

He was still smiling when he heard a hard rap on the door. When he opened it, standing before him was a massive six foot five inch no-neck goon, and Ziva.

"I think you lost somfin."

Ziva jerked her arm out of the goon's grip and said, "I am NOT a piece of property!"

Tony smiled and stood back, gesturing with his hand for her to enter. She was exactly how he predicted. Looking at the no-neck, he asked, "Where'd you pick her up?"

"Tryin' to enter the family's private quarters. Don't let it happen again."

Tony offered a mock salute and closed the door. Before he could even get turned around, she hissed, "I do not believe these people! Nothing worked! I had no sooner slipped past the first guard when they were on me. I could barely talk my way out of it, but I did! I told them I wanted to visit Maria. Maria! Can you believe that! Once she hears about this, there will be no escaping her! They escorted me back here like I was your property!"

He guided her to a chair and sat her down. Then he massaged her neck and shoulders, saying, "I applaud your efforts. It takes real guts to try and gain access to a Mafia Don's private quarters. You deserve recognition for trying."

"Stop making fun of me!"

"Oh, Ms. David," he whispered in her ear, "I assure you I am not making fun of you. You may know how to infiltrate government agencies, and you may have skills that far exceed that of my own, but I know a thing or two about the Mafia, and a pretty face and a seductive swagger won't work on these guys. You have to get an invitation. Without that, you're going nowhere fast."

The anger seemed to dissipate and she wasn't sure if it was because of his words or his incredibly soothing massage.

"C'mon," he coaxed. He pulled her gently to the bed and they lay down together. His arm felt good around her, and she let herself relax into the crux of his shoulder. She played with the button on his shirt a few minutes before admitting, "I'm a little anxious about this place. I think we need more backup."

He twisted his neck to look at her. "You, who thrive on being the lone wolf in a fight, want more people around?"

She remained silent for a moment because to give the real reasons would be to betray her true feelings, and not only were these thoughts detrimental to have, they went against Gibbs' rules. "If I were alone, things would be different."

Tony wasn't sure how to take her comment. Her tone and delivery said one thing; her words, another. He decided to let it go. He was tired and tomorrow was another day to plan, scheme, connive, and lie, and believe it or not, doing those things all day long, everyday, was downright exhausting.

***********************************8

"I miss anything?" Fornell asked, walking down the ramp in MTAC with Sacks two steps behind.

Gibbs straightened up a bit. He was working on only his second cup of coffee so he didn't feel much in the mood for any early morning visits from the FBI. The only thing that could be worse would be for the CIA to show up.

"Good morning, Gibbs. Fornell."

Gibbs turned to see Trent Kort walking down the ramp followed awkwardly by McGee. Gibbs quickly slung back the rest of his coffee.

"I'm sorry, Boss," McGee offered. "He just appeared and was here before I could call you."

Kort sat down in the seat next to Fornell and stared at the screen, like he not only belonged in MTAC, but he owned the place. Sacks had wisely taken up a seat on the second row. Fornell looked over and asked, "To what do we owe this early morning visit from the CIA?"

"Just keeping tabs on my investment," Kort said.

The CIA's investment consisted solely of money, something Gibbs had little time to worry about, but it was Fornell's look that had him concerned.

"What's up?"

"I think we have a problem," he said.

"What kind of problem?"

"There's a lot of activity in New York. I think the Guidinetti Family is on the move."

"What does that mean?"

"We don't exactly know, but we're keeping a close eye on their movements, which isn't an easy thing to do given the way they operate."

"How do they operate?"

"They go dark when something big is about to happen. Communication, transit, visibility…all that goes away, which makes keeping tabs on them extremely difficult."

Gibbs leaned forward and gave Kort a look. "You're quiet. Got anything to share?"

Kort shook his head, clearly lying to his counterparts.

McGee sat at the console and said, "I've got Tony and Ziva on camera." He pushed the image of the two lounging in the early morning sunshine by the pool to the plasma. "I've got audio for them as well."

Abby flitted into the darkened room and said, "Did I miss anything? Are Tony and Ziva all right?"

"They're fine," McGee answered. "Better than we are. Take a look."

She looked over his shoulder at his monitor and saw the two lounging by the spectacularly beautiful designer swimming pool with the rolling green pastures as the backdrop, sipping on Bloody Mary's. "Yeah, I see what you mean…"

Gibbs smiled until he heard the door to MTAC open again. Wondering who else was joining them, he looked at the ramp and saw Director Vance and Dr. Mallard coming in.

"Slow day in autopsy?" Gibbs asked. Even though he preferred to keep Tony and Ziva's audience to a minimum, he didn't mind Ducky being around.

"Thankfully, yes."

All we need now is SECNAV to walk through the door," he added.

"Not today, Gibbs," Vance said. "He has other, more pressing, issues to deal with. Where are we?" he asked, taking a seat next to Kort.

"We're about ready to find out," Gibbs answered, pointing to the screen. Up on the plasma they could see one of DiCarlo's boys approaching Tony and Ziva. Abby adjusted the volume so they could hear the conversation as clearly as possible.

"I thought I'd find you out here," Michel said. "Did you hear the good news?"

Tony shook his head. "We haven't heard anything. We've been here all morning."

Michel pulled over a chair and sat down. "It seems like Ahmed Abu-Wahib took the bait. My father contacted him last night and he's flying in today."

"That was fast."

Agent Ron Sacks slapped his knee in giddiness, "Not bad for a few months' worth of work. By tonight, we should have all the names anyone could possibly want…even you, Kort."

Fornell's enthusiasm was tempered; if they could get names by tonight, it would be an operation for the books. But something was niggling at his head.

Gibbs was less enthusiastic, "I'll rejoice when my people are back here safe."

"I'll rejoice when the people are back safe and the bills are paid," Vance deadpanned.

They turned their attention back to the screen. "Pops knows a good deal when he hears one," Michel was saying. "My father is going to—" he broke off, eyeing Rose. "I hear you went exploring last night."

"You hear wrong," she retorted. "I was merely trying to find Maria. She said she had a closet full of designer shoes."

Michel laughed, "Yeah, she'll tell you all kinds of stuff. She's a bit touched in the head, but she makes Rudy happy."

Tony encouraged, "Your father is going to what?"

"Pops is taking your suggestion. You see, Abu-Wahib already launders our money through his car dealerships, which is why we're working with him in the first place. So we have to make sure we get our money out of his dealerships first; otherwise, when we steal his money, he'll just turn around and keep ours."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"I really don't know. Vincent and Pops work out those things. But once the terrorists' money gets dropped in Bank of America, we'll have it. It'll be the mardi gras of thefts! Unfortunately, we have the Guidinetti Family to worry about now."

"Why? What are they doing?" Tony asked.

"It seems that they figured out who killed Rolf Guidinetti. I think there's a snitch amongst us…heaven help him if there is."

Tony pondered the new development. There's no way the Guidinetti Family could link a brutal murder of one of their own to a group of terrorists and then back to the DiCarlo Family…unless… Suddenly, a one-eyed teabag popped into his head.

Michel continued, "Anyway, Vincent's a little concerned, but there's nothing we can do about it. Besides, we're going to have our hands full with Ahmed Abu-Wahib in a few hours."

Tony's stomach clenched; suddenly, things weren't looking so good.

"Sounds like it could be the start of World War 3," Rose said, hoping to glean a little more information.

"Nah. Vincent has it covered."

"Why not your father?"

Michel shrugged, "You know…he's not what he used to be. Age, I guess. Tired. He lets Vincent handle most everything these days. Working with Abu-Wahib was Vincent's idea. Using him to off Rolf Guidinetti was his idea, too."

The three sat pensively, enjoying the warm morning sunshine and their own personal thoughts. Tony wished he'd met Michel under different circumstances. He really did enjoy his company, but the man was as good as in prison when this was all over. Why is it that he always took a liking to the wrong people? An image of Jeffrey White came to mind. He wondered if there was an omen somewhere in all this.

"Well," Michel said, getting up from the chair, "I'll let you two enjoy your morning coffee. Maybe later on, we can do some more shooting. You never know when you'll need it." He winked and walked back towards the house.

Ziva reached over and took Tony's hand, "Care to join me in the pool?" And with that, she slipped off her cover-up and revealed a sparkling white bikini. Tony took off his shirt and followed her into the cool water.

"There goes our audio," McGee said.

"Maybe not," Abby said, maximizing the picture so she could see as much of their faces as possible without distorting the image.

McGee smiled, "You're going to try and read their lips."

"I'm going to try, but if they keep moving in circles, this may be more difficult than I thought."

Ziva wrapped her arms around Tony's neck and her legs around his waist. To everyone, including the Feds in MTAC, they looked the part of love birds.

Ziva smiled and brushed some imaginary hair out Tony's face. "We have to get into that study," she cooed.

"We tried, remember? It's a fortress."

She laughed, like he had made some sexually charged comment, and whispered, " _I_ tried. _You_ didn't try hard enough. I think you should try again today."

He playfully dunked her and brought her up sputtering. He swept the hair out of her eyes and said, "Unless I get an invitation, I can most assuredly tell you that there's no way we're gaining access to that room."

She shook the water from her eyes and in retaliation for being dunked, she squeezed her thighs together, enjoying his bulging eyes. "If you hadn't been so timid," she cooed seductively, "we might not be having this conversation."

He managed to catch his breath at the same time that he noticed activity over her shoulder. "Take a look at that."

Ziva turned and watched a flurry of men walking with an urgency she hadn't witnessed before. The last time Tony saw this kind of activity—he didn't let his mind go there. For he had seen this sort of thing once before, and the reason for it didn't bode well for the living.

And so had Fornell, maybe not firsthand like DiNozzo, but he knew what quiet desperation looked like, and it was never a pretty sight.

"What do you make of that?" Gibbs said.

"Nothing good, that's for sure," Fornell answered.

Kort remained silent.

Tony and Ziva dried off from the pool while keeping an eye on the men whispering. She asked, "What are they doing now?"

Tony shrugged, not really understanding what he was seeing. He studied the scene: Men in black suits, carrying automatic weapons and scurrying from station to station, whispering to each other. Expressions were dour; muscles were tense; skin was pale; gun safeties were off. Whatever the news, it wasn't good.

He saw a familiar face and yelled, "Hey, Mario!"

Mario turned, saw Tony and Rose and started towards them. He'd taken two steps when he was intercepted and then diverted.

"Tony!"

Tony and Ziva turned around to see Michel rapidly approaching them.

"What's going on?"

"No time to explain. Rose, you have to pack your things; you're leaving."

"What?"

"There'll be a car waiting out front that'll take you wherever you want to go. Don't bother changing; just get your things and leave."

"Michel, what's going on?" she demanded.

"We're evacuating all the women and children from the estate."

"Evacuating… Why?"

"You have to leave. You have ten minutes to gather your belongings and say goodbye to Tony."

"But—"

"—Tony, you have fifteen minutes to say goodbye and then get yourself to the dining room."

Tony wanted to protest, but Michel had already left.

"You'd better get going."

"I'm not leaving here without you," Ziva said.

"You don't have a choice. I'll find out what's going on and be right behind you." He took her by the elbow and escorted her around the pool.

"I do not like this."

"Neither do I, but when you got ten minutes to leave, you had better be ready in nine."

There was an eerie chaos as the women on the estate were scrambling to pack their bags. Some had brought trunks full of things, while others, like Ziva, had only the clothes she'd arrived in, which consisted of a short leather skirt, a tight white blouse, and thigh-high black stiletto boots.

Tony slipped on a pair of jeans and grabbed a white button down shirt. "You ready?"

Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she replied, "No. I—"

He took her by the arm and escorted her through the door, "—Too bad. That's all the time you have."

They were again met with a swirl of activity. Women were yelling, sobbing, and complaining. Children were crying, whining and fussing. Men were issuing orders and kissing their wives, children, or girlfriends goodbye. Tony and Ziva caught snippets of conversations as they made their way through the people: "Why must I leave?...I don't know…When will I see you again?...I don't understand…Call me…I forgot my favorite shoes!...Forget about them! I'll bring them to you…I won't leave here without you…I'll wait for you forever..."

A line of black sedans and limousines wrapped around the circle and down the drive. Tony pushed her towards the first sedan.

"This is not right!" she protested.

"Driver! Take her back to the hotel," Tony said through the front passenger window.

The driver nodded, anxious to be leaving.

Shoving her into the backseat, he wrapped his hand behind her head and drew her close. Whispering in her ear, he said, "I'll be fine. If I leave now with you, we'll be stopped at the gate. Tell Fornell that I'm leaving here today with or without the information. See you in a couple of hours." He kissed her quickly on the lips and slammed the door. He watched as the black sedan rounded the circular drive and then picked up speed on the straight away. He didn't stop watching until it was out of sight. Then, and only then, did he notice the noise and disorder again.

Gibbs rubbed his forefinger across his lips, nervous. "Fornell, you mind telling me what's happening?"

"I can't be sure, but when a family evacuates their women and children, they're expecting something."

"So let's shut it down?" Gibbs said, throwing it out there.

Fornell mulled that thought over before saying, "Let's wait until we hear from Special Agent David. If we don't know any more after we talk to her, we'll send in our team and start making arrests."

Gibbs leaned forward and looked around Fornell at Kort, waiting for him to weigh in on the topic. But he remained awkwardly silent.

Making his way back through the commotion, Tony crossed the marble floor and walked straight to the dining room. Aside from guards, there wasn't anyone there. He took in everything: the papers on the table, the electronic equipment, the personnel. What were they planning on doing? They wouldn't actually be entertaining the idea of attacking Abu-Wahib when he arrived, would they? What's the point in killing off the terrorist group's leader _before_ you had the information you needed? None of this made sense, but it didn't make Tony any less nervous about what he was seeing.

"Tony!"

He swung around and saw Michel walking towards him. "You get Rose off okay?"

"Yeah. She was a little put out, but I sent her back to the hotel. What about you. Who'd you say goodbye to?"

"My mother. You know Italian goodbyes… the crying, the moaning, the weeping … I finally pulled myself together."

Tony laughed, which was the first time he felt such levity since the flurry of activity began. "So," he hedged, "what's going on?"

"I don't know," Michel honestly answered. "I got the word and didn't ask questions. I guess we'll know soon enough. Pops, Vincent and Lou have been behind closed doors since breakfast." He glanced at the stuff on the table and said, "It can't be too bad, right?"

Tony agreed, sensing his anxiety, "Nah, it's probably not great news, but it's probably not terrible news either."

There was a false sense of security in the air, even though they both knew their words most likely belied the truth.

The door opened and Mario, Frank and Nicholas came in, each looking progressively more confused. "What's the word?" Mario said.

Michel shrugged, "You got me. What'd'ya all know?"

They collectively shrugged, "Nothing. We were told to get rid of the ladies and kids and meet here."

Michel took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "Well, I guess there's nothing for us to do except wait for Pops and Vincent."

"Does this have anything to do with Abu-Wahib's visit today?" Frank asked.

Mario smacked him on the back of the head, "You just heard that no one here knows anything so why'd you ask such a stupid question?"

Frank rubbed his head but stopped when he saw Tony, "Why're you smiling?"

"What he just did to you, smacking you upside the head, it just reminded me of someone who used to do that to me."

The weight in the room shifted a little and the brothers took advantage of the lighter atmosphere. Frank tousled Mario's hair, making him back into Nicholas. Soon they looked like the three stooges wailing on each other. Judging by Michel and Tony's smiling faces, they were quite entertaining.

And then the door opened and in came Vinny, Sr., Vincent, and Lou, their expressions were a cross between determination, confidence, and worry. Behind them, walked the lieutenants, captains, and the rest of DiCarlo's army of men.

Gibbs asked for the second time, "Can we get a better audio in that dining room?"

"We're trying, but they seemed to have reconfigured their security," Abby explained. "Whereas we were able to tap into their lines before, I'm having to re-map the audio drops to the sound. It'll take a few minutes."

Abby furiously worked to clean up the sound, but her attempts were soon proven futile as they were only able to watch what was happening in the dining room. Not even her lip reading skills were helpful as the number of people talking and moving about the room made that virtually impossible.

Tony listened to Vincent talk. He looked over at Mr. DiCarlo, who looked worn down, haggard almost. Vincent kept his voice level, which was, at times, at extreme odds with what he was saying. "We've had reports that the Guidinetti family is planning an attack on us, here at the estate. At this time, we have no reason to believe that they'll actually do anything, but we also don't have any reason to believe they won't. That's why we sent the women and children away."

"Haven't they done this before?" Mario asked. "Threaten to attack us and then never do?"

"Yes, it's their M.O, if you will." Using a law enforcement term in an otherwise lawless environment amused the men and there was a hushed chuckle. "They've threatened this before and nothing ever came of it, which is why we have every reason to believe that nothing will come of this most recent threat. But we'd be fools if we didn't take it seriously, especially in light of our guest's pending arrival."

"I say we send the Guidinetti family a message of our own," Frank said, annoyed that the ladies were no longer around.

"That's already in the works," Vincent said. "I've sent some of our best men on a mission of sorts. They'll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, we're ready for anything they might try. Here's how we proceed: We're going to meet Ahmed Abu-Wahib just like planned. The show of firepower will be impressive, but because a quarter of our men are gone, it won't be overly threatening. He'll see that we are prepared for anything that he might try against us, or another family might try against us. We'll make the deal and move on. He won't be none the wiser about our plans until he's lost all his money in our banks. At that point, we'll sick the Guidinetti Family on them— _if_ there's anyone left after we deal with them for jerking our chain every opportunity they get."

"Sounds like you have it pretty well covered," Michel said, approvingly.

Tony took it all in. The words were sound, reassuring even, but they didn't fit the reality. He wondered if Fornell and Gibbs were getting any of this. He hoped as Hell they were because he almost wasn't believing his own ears. He looked up, directly at the camera and Gibbs' gut clenched, and Gibbs knew.

Something was wrong…something was about to go terribly wrong.

~TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

*************************************8

Ziva had stared out the back windshield for as long as she could. There had been people everywhere, stowing suitcases in trunks, buckling children in child seats, and embracing one another goodbye. What could be so nefarious that all the women and children had to leave the estate? That was the question she pondered the entire ride.

She would figure it out, but by the time she did, it would be too late.

*************************************8

"I want him out of there, Fornell." Gibbs said. "Now!"

It was a wasted request because Fornell was already placing the call. He set into motion a rescue mission that was pre-planned and ready to go; he just had to give the order. Unfortunately, they would soon realize just how futile the order was.

*************************************8

Tony stood next to Michel and watched as Ahmed Abu-Wahib stepped out of the black limousine. He was followed by several body guards. The balance of his party stayed behind in armor coated vehicles with dark tinted windows. Tony figured there were about 25 heavily armed terrorists, and between them and the small army that DiCarlo maintained, there could be a small war on the estate if someone drew a weapon un-expectantly. Remembering his mythologies, he whispered to Michel, "While King Arthur and Mordred discuss peace terms, I hope as Hell no one sees an adder."

Michel chuckled. "Nice," he said, appreciating the literary prowess of his friend. "If they do, I want you on my side." With that, the family broke off to meet with Abu-Wahib behind closed doors. That was Tony's cue to leave. As he made his way back to his room, he took note of everyone and everything. The guards were armed to the hilt, and reinforcements had been brought in. The smell of death seemed to permeate the grounds, or was that his imagination.

Gibbs asked, "How long?"

"Before we pick up DiNotzo?" Fornell glanced at his watch, "Maybe fifteen minutes. Don't worry; he's in good hands. We'll have him out of there in no time, and in the process we'll have eliminated a terrorist cell and a Mafia Don as a bonus."

Gibbs' gut clenched and his eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right. For starters, Kort was unusually silent. Fornell noticed it too and as they both stared at their CIA counterpart, Fornell eventually said, "You don't have anything to say about putting an end to your terrorist organization?"

Kort exhaled slowly and said, "I'll believe it when they've been eliminated."

"We aren't planning to eliminate them," Sacks said from behind. "You have enough on Ahmed Abu-Wahib to shut him and his cell down forever, and we have enough on the DiCarlo Family to shut them down. It's a win-win for everybody."

"It's not a win-win until my agent is out of there safely," Gibbs said, feeling uneasy.

"Well, of course we'll get Special Agent DiNozzo out safely," Sacks said, reigning in his enthusiasm. If he let himself, he'd be dreaming about the promotion that was no doubt coming his way. And who was he kidding? He let himself dream often. "He's our first priority. In fifteen minutes, he'll be rounded up with everyone else, and brought in for 'booking'. No more east coast terrorist cell and no more Mid-Atlantic Mafia family." His smile was evident in his voice.

On the plasma, McGee tried to follow as many people as he could. He was rapidly switching cameras to keep a visual on Abu-Wahib. At the same time, he was following Tony around the mansion. Abby was busy filtering out noises so they could get as much on tape as possible, and the experienced Feds in MTAC were trying to squelch the feeling of imminent disaster in their guts. Fornell checked his watch; his people were still a good ten minutes out.

"Good day, gentlemen."

All eyes turned to see Trent Kort buttoning his jacket and heading towards the ramp.

"You're leaving?" Fornell asked in dismay. "It's just getting good."

"I have some work to catch up on. I trust you'll wrap things up here."

"And to think I thought spooks liked a clean resolution to things."

And he was gone. Sacks was puzzled by this and asked, "Why do you think he left? I mean, we're about to see our agencies' money pay off…in dividends!"

When Gibbs let himself crawl into the brain of that obnoxious spook, he didn't like what he saw, and it showed. No sooner had he realized something was wrong than both Fornell and Vance realized it too.

Vance toned, "How long before your men are there!"

It didn't matter the answer; it was going to be too late.

*************************************8

Ziva kept wondering why the DiCarlo Family evacuated all the women and children. She thought about it the entire ride through Maryland and into DC. There were numerous reasons why, but none of them were good for Tony. The driver had let her out at the hotel and sped off. She promptly flagged down the nearest taxi and had him take her to the Navy Yard. She was within sight of the Yard when it suddenly hit her. The knowledge froze her momentarily, taking her breath away. She asked to borrow the driver's cell phone but he didn't have one; something about being against company policy. She demanded he give it to her, but he never wavered from his story. She fidgeted, her stomach churning at what she knew to be true. She passed the guards, and ran the steps. She pushed through the doors leading to MTAC, but her worst thoughts were now coming true. The noise and the explosions on the screen verified it.

*************************************8

Tony heard the helicopter before he saw it. Just minutes earlier, he had made his way back to his bedroom and was going to change out of his suit when the loud rotors caught his attention.

He had only managed to toss his jacket and tie on a chair before the house rocked from an explosion. As he stood at his bedroom window watching the helicopter spray bullets at the house, he'd wished he'd had a weapon. The copter had come in low avoiding detection. When he first heard it, he thought it might be another guest, but the distinct sounds of cannon fire and Gatling-fire killed that idea. It wasn't until he heard the sounds of explosions coming from the back of the house that he put it all together. He was in the middle of was a full-blown, no hold barred, Mafia-on-Mafia hit going down. "Michel!" he said to no one, and then dove for cover as the bullets sprayed through the window, cutting down everything in their way. The noise deafened him and the debris rained over him. When the bullets stopped, he grabbed the only weapon he had, a candlestick holder, and flew out the door in search of the only person he really cared about.

He raced down the stairs and into the main part of the house, checking on downed men as he went. He saw the no-neck goon who had returned Ziva just last night, bleeding profusely. He propped him up against the wall, stripped him of his jacket and pressed it hard against his gaping chest wound, knowing how wasted his attempts were. For it all, he received a weak, but appreciative, nod. He took an Uzi from a guard who wasn't going to miss it. The last place he saw the family headed was for the study. He was within sight of the door when an explosion blew him off his feet and sent him flying backwards, slamming into a wall.

He lay there beneath the rubble and falling ruins of the house. His senses deadened by the blast: he no longer heard the noise of the gunfire or the men shouting. Vertigo was making objects roll slowly as if the world was now riding a wave. He moved, but he moved in slow motion and he wasn't making much progress. He stumbled outside, which wasn't difficult since the back of the mansion was now exposed to the overcast skies and the great outdoors. He thought he saw men running, men firing automatics, helicopters hovering, cement statues and concrete walkways disintegrating, but it was all happening much too slowly and without any sound.

He stood and raised his Uzi, his brain was scrambled and he'd be hard pressed to explain what was happening, but he took aim at the helicopter and unloaded 3500 rounds of ammunition.

In MTAC, Gibbs, Fornell, Sacks and Vance were all standing, staring disbelievingly at the commotion. Ziva had frozen on the ramp and McGee and Abby and the other technicians were stunned at what they were witnessing. They watched as the helicopter swayed, then lurched, and then tilted. Its blade ripped through the top floor of the mansion causing the bird's tail to rise up. When that happened, it rammed full speed into the pool, resulting in an explosion that sent black smoke and debris hundreds of feet into the air.

The entire attack took less than ten minutes, but it looked like a war zone. When Gibbs got his wits about him, he said, "McGee." But McGee was still staring at the screen, wondering how so much damage could be done in such a short period of time. "McGee!"

Tim looked at him.

"Are there survivors?"

He started tapping on his keyboard trying to patch into any of the other cameras on the estate. Most had been destroyed but there were a few that were still functioning. The images that were coming through were no better than the others. It was hard to tell if the men on the ground were dead, but based on the pools of crimson colored fluids forming next to them, it looked rather obvious that they were. Some camera lenses were covered in debris while others were cracked making it difficult to see accurately the men on the ground. Every camera was being used to scan for Tony, but it was useless given the quality of the images.

Fornell's phone rang. Whoever was on the other end was speaking so loudly that his voice could easily be heard within the now silent MTAC. "What the hell is happening up there, Agent Fornell? It looks like World War III broke out at the same time an earthquake hit! We're three minutes out! What are we going into!"

Fornell wasn't sure how to advise his team. It looked like the fight was over because there didn't appear to be anyone alive or at least conscious to carry on. He swallowed and said, "Proceed with caution, Agent Matthews. Remember, we have an undercover agent inside and he's your first priority. Locate him after you secure the area."

"Yessir! We'll find Agent DiNozzo and bring him home, Sir."

Fornell clicked off. He heard McGee talking quietly to a 911 dispatcher, initiating the call for ambulances.

*************************************8

The anxiety in MTAC was apparent. Gibbs never moved from his spot on the floor, even after Fornell and Sacks left. Vance had authorized satellite coverage but left before the link was established. He had some checking to do on a certain CIA operative. Soon, they were watching in real time as the FBI agents searched what remained of the estate. Abby had been able to locate several audio drops that hadn't been obliterated and enhance the sound so they could hear the agents as they secured the property.

Ambulance after ambulance had come and gone. Surprisingly, there appeared to be a fair number of men still alive, but the extent of their injuries may change their status.

Dr. Mallard sighed, "What hospital are they taking them to?"

"Frederick Memorial," McGee answered.

"Do you know the conditions of any of the survivors?"

"Only that most of them have bullet wounds and/or burns. Two have died in transport already."

"I take it we don't have any names yet?"

McGee shook his head. He shared a glance with Abby, who was wide eyed with fear. He wasn't sure what she would do if they identified Tony as among the deceased. For that matter, he wasn't sure what he would do.

Gibbs' phone rang and he glanced at the display, "McGee, put it on speaker."

Tim plugged it in and Gibbs answered, "You find Tony yet?"

"We're still looking," Fornell said. "We just arrived a few minutes ago and I've been told that there are more men alive than dead, fortunately."

Gibbs only cared about one person being alive. "Nobody's seen DiNozzo?"

"He's not in his bedroom or any of the hallways. We're looking outside but…well, you should know that most of the men outside were killed."

"We have you on satellite."

"Then you can see what we see. The only difference is the smell. Pyrodex propellants, gun powder, diesel and…" he didn't finish.

Gibbs shifted. The 'and…' was the distinct smell of death.

"I'll call back when we have something," Fornell said and clicked off.

Dazed, Ziva sat down in one of the leather chairs. Just a few hours ago, she had been lounging in the swimming pool where a two-ton helicopter now resided. Or what remained of one. If Tony had been outside, there was no way she could see how he could have survived. She had wanted to go with Fornell and Sacks back to the estate and help look for him, but Fornell nixed the idea. It was bad enough that one of Gibbs' agents was missing, he wasn't about to risk two.

"Boss?" McGee said. "I've pulled up the recording of all the cameras prior to the attack."

"And I have their associated audio," Abby said.

McGee continued, "We might be able to find Tony and follow him. At least maybe give Fornell a place to start looking."

"Do it."

McGee clicked away on his keyboard until the plasma screen picked up the previously recorded image of Tony, dressed in his tailor made Italian suit, meeting Ahmed Abu-Wahib along with the rest of the family. The watched as the family and the terrorist disappeared into the study, allowing Tony to leave.

McGee was able to play back the recording of Tony in the hallway and they watched him turn into his bedroom. Since there were no cameras inside, Abby turned up the tape recorder and they listened to nothing until a barrage of firepower came crackling through the speakers, causing Abby to jump.

McGee knew what she'd be thinking and assured her, "Remember what Fornell said? He said Tony wasn't in his room."

About that time, the camera had picked up Tony racing back out of his room and down the hallway. McGee was able to play the tape of him in the stairwell and then on the first floor. They watched as he stopped long enough to drag a man out of harm's way and try to staunch the flow of blood from his chest. He then picked up a semi-automatic pistol and took off running towards the study. The camera on that hallway had picked him up and as he was running towards it, an explosion had sent him flying backwards. McGee ran the tape of another camera where they were able to watch Tony stumble about, obviously disoriented from the blast. He was moving slowly trying to make his way into the pool area when he went out of range. McGee played the tape of one of the few outside cameras that hadn't already been riddled with bullets. On that, they watched Tony stumble into the daylight, raise the sub-machine gun he'd previously commandeered from a dead terrorist, and open fire on the helicopter. Once the pilot had been killed, the copter did a nose-dive into the pool, causing a massive explosion that obliterated most of the cameras and audio drops in the vicinity.

The screen went dark after that and they stared a moment longer at the blank screen, taking in the chaos that Tony had found himself in the middle of.

"Call Fornell back," Gibbs ordered.

McGee dialed the number and put it on speaker.

"Yeah," Fornell answered.

"Look outside the house near the pool."

Fornell was already at the back of the house and it was a disaster zone. The hope in his friend's voice didn't help matters. "I'm already here, but—"

"—He was last standing on the steps leading to the pool."

Fornell yelled to his men, "Start looking over by the steps!"

"Gibbs," Fornell warned, "there's nothing but chunks of concrete and debris over there. Are you sure he might be there."

"I'm not sure of anything, Fornell, but the tapes we've been watching puts him there when the chopper went down."

McGee allowed the satellite to fill the screen and Fornell had been right; there was nothing left of the back of the house, the steps, or the pool. It resembled war-torn Sarajevo circa 1992, he thought. He had to be strong, if not for himself, for Abby. With nothing to do but wait, she nervously tapped the console.

They could hear some voices in the background but couldn't make out what was being said. Finally, Fornell came over the speaker loudly, "You're not gonna believe this, Gibbs, but we found him!"

Ziva stood up and anxiously said, "How is he? Is he alive?"

Fornell didn't immediately answer and she repeated, "Fornell! Is he okay?"

A minute later he came back on and said, "He's alive! But he's in bad shape. He was buried under all these cement blocks and stone. I don't know how he's alive, but he's alive."

Ziva smiled, not sure who she should share her jubilation with, while Abby hugged McGee. Gibbs' rocked on his heels, keenly aware of the rough road ahead for his senior agent.

*************************************8

Gibbs hadn't expected to beat the medical transport to Bethesda Medical, but he did. Ducky and McGee shared a moment of thanks when they narrowly escaped imminent death as Gibbs roared through, not one, but two red lights. Only Ziva didn't appear to be suffering any ill effects from the car ride. They watched as the medical helicopter landed on the red X and a team of medical personnel ran out to meet it. Tony was lifted onto a gurney and whisked into the hospital. His initial appearance wasn't good. Blood was come out of just about every orifice on his head and his previously white, button-down shirt was neither.

"How is he?" Ziva attempted to ask. They paid little attention to her until she decided to follow them behind closed doors. "He is my partner!" she yelled through the glass. "I have a right to know how he is doing!" Only when an armed security guard appeared did she reluctantly make her way to the waiting room with the others.

"Ah, Ziva," Tim said hesitantly.

"What!"

"You aren't exactly dressed like an agent," he said, gently.

"So? He is still my partner no matter how I am dressed!"

"Yes, but you also don't have any creds on you."

She may not care about the thigh high leather stiletto boots or the short leather mini-skirt, but she did know the value of proper credentials. Reluctantly, she took a seat and let her more 'official' friends inquire about him.

In the three hours of waiting, they learned that Tony had been sent into emergency surgery. The doctors were vague and wouldn't offer any prognosis, but he was alive and for now, that had to be good enough.

Meanwhile, the waiting room had become crowded. Abby and Palmer showed up together. A few minutes later, Fornell and Sacks arrived. With every visitor, the same question was asked, and the same answer given: "He's in surgery. We won't know how he is until they update us."

Fornell offered an unofficial SITREP. "It's difficult to account for people who don't supposedly exist, but near as we can figure, there were around 34 people at the estate during the attack. Of those 34, fifteen were pronounced dead at the scene, four more died in route to the hospital. Of the fifteen left, eight are critical, three are in serious condition, and four have been released into police custody."

"How is Michel?" Ziva asked.

Fornell hesitated. "Michel DiCarlo, along with his father and brothers, were killed. The study took a direct hit, instantly killing everyone, including Ahmed Abu-Wahib. It'll be some time before the remains are recovered."

Ziva thought of the mother. She'd never spoken with her, but she'd seen her and she knew enough to know she doted on her boys. She worried how Tony would take the news.

Agent Ron Sacks stepped forward and fidgeted. Finally he said, "I'm sorry about Agent DiNozzo. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but he's one of the best agents I think I've ever worked with. And it was actually a pleasure watching him work. I'm sorry this case ended up with him being here, in the hospital. I hope you tell him that for me."

Gibbs nodded, knowing a genuine gesture when he heard it.

Sacks acknowledged his boss and then left the waiting room.

"It would seem like DiNotzo brings out the best in people. But I have to hand it to your boy, Gibbs, he did an outstanding job. One for the books and eventually the classrooms in Quantico."

They knew that Tony wouldn't care about that. He wouldn't care about any awards or medals or commendations that were no doubt being lined up to give him. He would care about the people he wasn't able to save.

"I know it's of little consolation given what he's going through now, but eliminating a terrorist cell while simultaneously cutting off the head of a Mafia organization is nothing short of a miracle," Fornell added. "There may have been three agencies working this operation, but we all know who pulled this off, and I'll be sure to put that in my report. However, I can't guarantee what our CIA counterpart will do."

"Speaking of the CIA," Director Vance said while entering the room and approaching them, "I've some news to report, but first, how's Special Agent DiNozzo?"

"We don't know yet, Director," Abby said. "He's still in surgery."

Vance mulled that over a moment and then continued, "I made a few phone calls and learned a thing or two about Agent Kort. He was the one who tipped off the Guidinetti Family that Ahmed Abu-Wahib was going to be at the DiCarlo estate. He also supplied them with details of the meeting and a floor plan of the house."

All but Gibbs and Fornell looked surprised.

"Why would he do that?" Ziva asked, incredulous at the thought.

"Because he never had any intentions of bringing in Ahmed Abu-Wahib alive. He always planned that one of the families would kill him, which one, he didn't care. As we lined up the players, he lined up his snitches."

"And Tony?" McGee asked.

"Collateral damage."

"What about the money?" Gibbs said.

"Gone. The CIA froze their assets and then it all mysteriously disappeared. All Kort needed was the bank and he was able to fill in the missing pieces. I'm personally meeting with SECNAV to give him my report, and I'd like to give him an update on Agent DiNozzo."

Dr. Mallard took that as his cue and excused himself. He walked to the volunteer station, and returned a moment later. "Tony's out of surgery and the doctor's on his way up."

Annoyed at what he'd learned about Kort, Fornell said, "I have a meeting with my director too. I'll be sure to relay your findings."

A voice interrupted them, "Excuse me. I'm looking for a relative of Anthony DiNozzo."

"I'm his boss."

The doctor was still dressed in hospital blue scrubs, hair cover and shoe covers. He looked at the room full of people and asked, "Are all of you waiting for news about him?"

Vance pulled his credentials and let the doctor read them, "I'm Leon Vance, Director of NCIS. Anthony DiNozzo is one of my agents. I'd like an update on his condition, please."

"Very well," he said, still wary of the crowd. "We were able to stabilize him enough for surgery. He had four bullets in him; fortunately, none of them was life threatening. With the exception of his left leg, I think the bullet wounds will heal. That left leg took a bullet that shattered his fibula. We were able to insert a metal pin, that's temporary and will be switched out for a permanent fix when he's stronger. He sustained mostly first and second degree burns and they were confined to his arms and back. Both ear drums ruptured. Internally, his kidneys and spleen suffered extensive bruising and his liver was torn. He doesn't appear to have a concussion although we haven't ruled that out yet. They can sometimes come about hours after the initial trauma, so we're monitoring him." He paused to reflect on his words, wondering if he'd left out anything. "And of course numerous cuts, bruises and scrapes. If you see him, you may be shocked at his appearance, but most of those wounds are superficial and should heal if properly treated."

"When can we see him?" Ziva asked.

"He's still in recovery and then he'll be moved to intensive care. I'm sorry but only one family member is allowed in ICU." He looked at the faces and said, "But I might be able to make an exception. Just keep him calm and don't upset him."

Gibbs nodded and then the surgeon and Dr. Mallard walked away together.

Vance said, "I have to meet up with SECNAV. Keep me posted."

Fornell looked at his watch and said, "I should be going, too. I have the meeting with my director and I want to learn more about Kort and his … accomplices."

When Gibbs turned back around, two sets of female eyes were staring at him, or more accurately, staring him down. The unspoken words were which one of them was going to be allowed to go in and visit Tony.

He turned and walked away.

*******************************8

ICU was dimly lit and cramped. Each patient had his or her own space delineated by long curtains on short tracks. No need for privacy here, Gibbs thought. And every monitor hooked up to every patient could be seen from a central station, which was manned 24x7 by no fewer than two nurses. Gibbs found an empty chair and moved it into Tony's allotted space.

There were more machines hooked up to Tony than he'd ever seen hooked up to anyone. In addition to the expected blood pressure cuff and IV, there were pinchers on multiple fingers, tubes coming from his nose, and wires coming out from under his hospital gown. His leg was propped up (in some kind of traction), and bandages were covering most of his exposed skin. And that was only what he could see. No telling what he looked like under the gown and blankets.

"Are you his father?"

Gibbs turned and saw a middle aged woman in scrubs with a clipboard and pen in hand and a lanyard full of IDs. "No. I'm his boss…and his friend."

"He's a lucky man."

"Are you his nurse?"

She nodded. "I'm Rita. We have a ratio of 1.5:1 in ICU, meaning every nurse cares for exactly one and a half patients, so you'll be seeing me around a lot since he's my one."

"I'd hate to see your half."

She gave him a warm smile and said, "We'll take good care of your friend here so he can make a full recovery."

"So he will make a full recovery?"

She replaced the clipboard and pocketed her pen, "I haven't lost a patient yet. I predict that he'll make it out of ICU, beyond that, I can't say. But judging from years of experience, I'd say he's got a better than average chance." And she disappeared.

Gibbs sat down and waited. It was late but he didn't feel tired, or at least he thought he wasn't tired. The next thing he knew he was staring at Ziva, who was staring down at Tony.

"I am sorry, Gibbs," she said, "I did not want to wake you."

Gibbs took a deep breath, blinked several times, and assessed his surroundings, "What time is it?"

"A little past six. You have been here all night. The doctor finally allowed a second person to visit."

"And Abby just let you come in?"

"No." She hedged a little and said, "I had McGee distract her."

He rubbed his eyes and noticed she was holding Tony's hand. "How is he?"

"He is…'stable'. The nurse changed one of his bandages this morning, said the incision looks good." She glanced at her boss. Under the worst of conditions, he was a handsome man, but he was looking more haggard than usual lately. This mission seemed to have taken a toll on him. "Why don't you go home? I will stay with him for a while.

He looked around, eventually landing his gaze back on an unconscious DiNozzo. He decided he could probably use a cup a coffee and left.

Ziva continued to stand by his bed, holding his hand, and wondering how he was going to come through this.

********************************8

Tony thought he heard something. Whatever it was, it was distant, and he couldn't make out what it was. If it was voices, he had no idea what was being said or who was saying it. If it _was_ voices, he wanted to hear it. First, he needed to wake up. Only he wasn't sure how to do that. He wasn't even sure if he was sleeping. Maybe he was dead?

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Nothing was what he expected, but he'd be hard pressed to say what exactly he did expect. He seemed to be looking at a ceiling, one of those old tile ones with holes and water stains. He could see lights flashing and monitors and hear the faint ringing of bells. He could even move his head.

Then a man appeared, and the mere sight of him allowed his muscles to relax and his mind to drift off again.

"How come he keeps doing that?"

Rita smiled, "His body's been traumatized, Agent Gibbs, not to mention his mind. He just needs time to heal. The good news is whenever he sees you, all his vitals stabilize so you must have a calming effect on him."

Ziva almost laughed until a somewhat indignant look from Gibbs stopped her.

"Sorry, Gibbs, I did not mean to say that you were not calming….it is just that you are not what comes to mind when one wishes to be calmed."

Rita laughed at the exchange and said, "I think he's going to be in good hands when he comes to."

"When might that be?" she asked.

"Hard to tell. We like for them to get as much sleep as possible because when the sleep wears off, so too does the medication. That's when he'll have lots of pain and lots of questions." She adjusted his monitors. "Hey, I just thought of something. Who is… Miguel? Mitchell? Michelle? I'm not sure what he was saying, but he was asking about someone earlier?"

"Michel," Ziva said. "He was an acquaintance of Tony's."

The past tense wasn't lost on the nurse. She nodded and patted her patient's good leg, knowing that when he awakens, he may be in for an emotional ride.

***********************************88

At times, Tony felt like he was underwater without a care, drifting serenely to parts unknown, and at other times, he felt like he was suffocating, clawing for air, and trapped. Rising to the surface, he could see the light, but it was still too dark to discern any objects. And then it was there, slowly coming into focus. The ceiling, the monitors, the metal arms, the tubes. The same ringing invaded his ears and no matter which way he turned his head, he couldn't seem to get rid of it.

He stared at the ceiling until someone touched his arm. He saw Gibbs staring down at him. At first, his boss looked happy and smiled, but then his expression changed and he looked concerned. Then a nurse came into his line of sight and she looked like she was saying something, but if they expected him to answer, they'd have to turn down that damn ringing bell.

"What's wrong with him?" Gibbs asked, still staring into his agent's eyes.

Rita took out her pen and flipped over a piece of paper and wrote 'Can you hear us?' and showed it to Tony.

He wanted to speak but his mouth was stuffed with cotton, or so it felt. He didn't care about hearing them; he cared about Michel. He shook his head. He caught a glimpse of another man, and then all three were talking but if they were talking to him, they had better speak a hell of a lot louder or get rid of this damn ringing sound.

The doctor explained, "Both his eardrums were ruptured when he came in. It's too early to tell if the damage is permanent."

"Can he hear anything?"

"Maybe. But he has other more pressing issues to be concerned about. Fortunately, he's strong and in good health and seems to be recovering nicely, but with the extent of his injuries, infection is a major concern. If his counts are normal by this afternoon, that's a good sign and I'll release him out of ICU. Judging by his reaction whenever he sees you, Agent Gibbs, I think his recovery will be greatly speeded up when he's able to communicate with his family and friends."

They turned back to their patient, but he was out again.

***************************8

Gibbs caught catnaps most of the day after his team had left. Earlier in the day, one by one, they had filtered through the ICU unit, squeezing Tony's hand, rubbing his leg, patting his arm, doing whatever made them feel close to him. They'd ask Gibbs how he was doing like they couldn't see for themselves. Tony, on the other hand, spent most of the day going in and out of consciousness. At times it looked like he was concentrating on what they were saying, but he couldn't hear them, and then they'd look at Gibbs and he'd have to tell them what the doctor had told him. By the time they'd look back down, Tony was out again. Gibbs suspected the medication was working quite well.

Gibbs woke with a start, not knowing exactly why, but then he saw Tony staring at him. He scrubbed his head and stretched. "Hey," he smiled at his agent, hoping the passing of time had brought some positive news.

Tony didn't respond.

Gibbs wrote down, 'eardrums have ruptured…it's why you can't hear.'

Tony focused hard on the letters, which was difficult to do in the dimly lit room with the constant ringing in his ears and the piss-poor handwriting. But it became evident to Gibbs the moment he understood. Tony lifted his hand and Gibbs placed the pen in it and the paper under. He scribbled, 'water.'

He took a few sips before he turned his head away. With his mouth still feeling like it was full of cotton, Tony scribbled, 'date?'

Gibbs wrote back, 'Thursday.' Out loud, he said, "You've been out for two days."

Tony felt his eyes getting heavy again, but he didn't want to sleep anymore. He wanted answers, yet he wasn't sure of the questions. Something had happened to him, but his brain was too foggy to pull all the pieces together into some semblance of order. He would see faces but not clearly enough to make out who they were, and he'd remember names, but only for a second. 'Michel' soon floated to the surface. Yes, he wanted to know about his friend, but the drugs were keeping him drowsy and he wanted them gone. "No more drugs," he whispered. "I can't think…no more."

Gibbs patted his shoulder and said, "You don't have to think anymore, Tony. I'll do all the thinking for you." But by Tony's expression, he might as well have said nothing.

"Michel…"

Gibbs furrowed his brow as he didn't feel it was the time to tell him what had happened. Fortunately, Tony was soon breathing steady in another drug induced slumber.

Gibbs looked at the LED on his ringing phone and decided to answer, "Yeah."

Fornell updated his NCIS counterpart, "I found out what Kort did. He played us both."

"We knew that. Where is he now?"

"Disappeared into the wind. The CIA is trying to disavow knowledge of the operation so they don't have to pay up."

"We knew that was coming, too. Tell me something that I don't already know."

"I had the papers report that Tony Villani was among the casualties so no one will go looking for him. Speaking of which, how is he?"

Gibbs studied the unconscious man, "He'll live. Got a tough road ahead of him."

"Don't we all. When's he set for release?"

"I'll let you know." With that, he hung up.

****************************************8

The next couple days were better. Everyday Tony was making progress, staying awake a little longer, moving a little more. And every day, the team would come and visit him. Sometimes he was awake while they were here and other times he was out cold. Gibbs never seemed to have left his side, although he had on clean clothes each day and looked as though he had showered.

Finally, Tony was released from ICU and moved into a regular hospital room. This is the point at which Gibbs usually said goodbye. Watching the endless teams of nurses and doctors and visitors stream through the room wasn't his idea of anything, and he had things to do. But for some reason, he stayed. After they moved him into a private room and all the nurses and aides had left, Gibbs studied his agent. Tony was still a sight to see: bruises, cuts, and scraps covering his swollen face. Both eyes were blackened and his hands were badly scraped. He'd said on several occasions that he didn't want any more drugs, but if his face was any indication of the rest of his body, he had to be in considerable pain, and so they kept the pain killers flowing through his IV.

Gibbs was most concerned about his hearing. He'd written more in the form of notes to Tony than he'd written all year, always avoiding answering the questions about Michel. At times, he'd click his fingers or slip his ringing cell phone next to Tony's ear, hoping that there'd be some reaction, even it was only a slight twitch, but there never was.

When he found himself alone once again with his agent, he toyed with the idea of leaving. Tony had slept most of the morning, and that wouldn't change until the morphine stopped flowing. He decided to stay a few more hours and found a semi-comfortable chair to sit in. He must have dozed off because when he came too, the room was dark. Even though he couldn't make out Tony's facial details, he felt him staring at him. When his eyes finally adjusted to the dim lighting, he saw Tony, and he realized that he was feeling the hard stare of a federal agent who had more questions than Gibbs had answers.

He straightened, rubbed his hands quickly over his head and acknowledged his agent, "How long you been awake?"

"Can you get rid of this ringing sound?"

It was the first full sentence his agent had spoken since he'd been brought into the hospital almost four days ago.

"Can you hear me?"

Tony furrowed his brow at the words. "This ringing…" he put his hand over an ear. "I can't stand it anymore."

Gibbs pressed the nurse's button and then repeated, "Can you hear anything I'm saying?"

He nodded slightly. For what it was worth, Tony could hear something, only it was too faint and distant to make out. "This ringing…it won't stop."

Gibbs relayed the problem to the nurse and she said she'd ask the doctor. He never saw her again, but Tony had drifted back to sleep so he took the opportunity to call Ducky. Within a couple of hours, Ducky was staring down at Tony and relaying his knowledge of ruptured eardrums and hearing loss, which was practically verbatim to what the doctor in ICU had said.

"Will be regain his hearing?"

"It's possible, but then again, it's possible he won't. It's too early to say anything definitively, but ringing is a good sign."

Gibbs wondered what Tony would do if he couldn't be a federal agent. That possibility was always a reality for any of them every day they came to work, but it was different now. Gibbs practically slumped when he said, "He's got a lot of questions I don't want to answer, Duck."

"Like?"

"He's been asking about Michel DiCarlo."

"The brother that befriended him?"

Gibbs nodded.

Pained at the thought, Ducky offered, "He's going to find out eventually. I find the sooner one learns the truth, the sooner one can start healing."

People like Tony don't heal from things like this. They push it aside, bury it deep, or box it in, but they don't recover. He knew, because he was the same way. "One problem at a time, Ducky. I'd like for him to get his hearing back first."

As they stared, they saw that the patient was restless. His dreams must be tormenting him and that's when Gibbs did something Ducky had only ever seen him do once before. He placed his hand over Tony's hand and gently squeezed. As if a sedative had been shot directly into his veins, Tony relaxed and let his body give under the sheets. For the first time, he actually looked at peace.

"How do we go forth?" Gibbs whispered.

Ducky sighed, for as much attention that was being directed towards their senior field agent, most forgot the impact all this had on the rest of the team, specifically Gibbs. Speaking as much about Tony as he was his friend, he offered, "We go forth just like any other recovery. He'll need time to regain his strength, come to terms with what happened, and move on from this ordeal. He's spent months as Tony Villani, now he has to reclaim Anthony DiNozzo's life. An extremely important part of everyone's recovery, I might add."

Ducky waited out the silence and eventually said, "Why don't you go home? I'll stay with him until morning."

Gibbs patted him on the back and nodded appreciatively, then disappeared out the door.

***************************************8

Tony was exhausted, and it actually felt good. Several nurses had finally gotten him out of bed and he had hobbled to a wheelchair, no easy task given he had to keep his left leg in some sort of contraption and he couldn't always understand their hand gestures. He was then pushed to the bathroom where, for the first time, he saw himself in the mirror. He had to admit that he was some kind of sight. The bruises, cuts, and abrasions were too numerous to count, but the swelling had significantly diminished. His hands, arms, and back were still bandaged from the burns, and his midsection was dressed. And everything hurt. The entire excursion took about an hour and he was grateful when he eventually made it back to the bed.

"When can I go home?"

The nurse absently said, "You're making good progress and if you keep this up, you'll be out of here sooner than later."

Tony closed his eyes for it was becoming evident that communicating with anyone was rapidly becoming an exercise in futility, so he let his mind drift. Thinking about Gibbs seemed to be a favorite place to go. But without warning, Gibbs' face would fade and be replaced with dead bodies, helicopters, and explosions. Then, he'd get flashes of faces: Michel, Vincent, Michel, Nicholas,—

A hand to his shoulder interrupted his thoughts and his eyes shot open. "Michel?"

Dr. Mallard sighed, "No, Anthony, not Michel."

"Ducky?"

"Yes." His confusion was evident so he added, "You must be patient, my boy. Your wounds need time to heal."

"Where's Gibbs?"

"He'll be back. He's been here non-stop since you were brought in."

"I know you're talking but I can't make out what you're saying."

"Can you hear anything?"

Tony furrowed his brow. "What?"

This time, Ducky spoke deliberately and slowly, "Can. You. Hear. Anything?"

"Some sounds. Very faint, though."

Ducky patted him on the shoulder and smiled, "That's a good sign. It means your eardrums are healing."

"Where did they take Michel?"

Ducky feigned ignorance; instead of answering, he studied the cast on his leg, and remarked how far they've come in such treatments, all of which was lost on his patient.

"Ducky? Do you know where they took Michel?"

He shook his head, taking some comfort in that he wasn't completing lying.

"Where's Gibbs?"

As if on cue, Gibbs walked through the door. "I'm right here."

"Boss!" he said, clearly excited to see him.

Following him into the room came Ziva, Abby and McGee.

Tony brightened even though it hurt to smile.

Both women went to either side of his bed. Abby took his hand in hers and Ziva rested hers on his arm. "You are looking well," she said. "Better than the last time I saw you."

Tony just stared. Her voice was there, but making any meaning out of her words was proving difficult. With uncertainty, he asked, "You were gone before the attack?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Do you remember the evacuation of all the women and children?"

He studied her face. He did catch one of her words, evacuation, and he nodded. "Evacuation… I remember."

Abby was almost giddy with excitement, "Tony! I know you've been gone, but a lot has happened since you were commandeered by the FBI. Do you remember Caitlin in Evidence? She got engaged to Harry in Cyber Crimes, which is really strange because Caitlin and Harry have, like, nothing in common. And then Mary in Security and Blake in Accounting also got engaged and _they_ have nothing in common!"

Tony watched her lips move but didn't comprehend a word she was saying. She was fascinating to watch, however. He'd never really studied her while she talked, but she was quite animated and he could hear the story without hearing the words, just by watching her expressions. She was either talking about bowling with the nuns, or gossip around the office. He decided it must be gossip around the office, but couldn't explain why he thought that. Unfortunately, he lost interest soon after she began. He had questions of his own he wanted answered. He waited for a pause in her story and asked, "—Where's Michel?"

Even though he couldn't hear much, Tony was acutely aware that the room had fallen silent. He repeated, "Michel? What hospital is he in?"

Still, no answer.

"Hey!" he snapped. Why was everyone ignoring him? "Michel DiCarlo? You do remember him, right? Where is he?"

Abby pulled her hand back and looked around for Gibbs. There was no way she was going to be the bearer of bad news. But Gibbs was not looking like he had an answer. Even when Tony caught his eyes, he only held the gaze a few seconds before he looked away.

"McGee!" Tony said.

No one was more startled than Tim when he heard his name. It stood to reason, though, given that he wasn't a very good liar and Tony knew it. Anytime DiNozzo wanted answers, he knew exactly where to get them.

"McGee! Where are you?"

Tim walked up behind Abby and said, "Yeah?"

Tony shifted positions, trying to get comfortable and looking around Abby to see him. He asked, "Where'd they take Michel? Which hospital?"

Tim bit his lower lip and then said, "Tony, ummm, Michel… isn't in a hospital."

"What?"

Tim shook his head and repeated a little louder, "He isn't in a hospital, Tony."

"He's not in a hospital?"

Surprised that he understood, McGee nodded.

Confused, Tony asked, "You mean he came away from that attack unscathed? Impossible. The place was a war zone…" As he searched his mind for answers, the realization of what might have happened slowly dawned on him. He shifted, wrapping his head around the possibility that Michel might not have made it.

"Boss? What's he talking about?"

When Gibbs approached the bed, his team stepped back. Gibbs leaned down, resting one hand on Tony's arm and the other hand next to his head. "Can you hear me?"

Tony shrugged. It wasn't so much that he could hear as he could read expressions and lip movements. He wasn't that good at it, but he seemed to be catching on as long as he could concentrate on the speaker.

Gibbs began, "Michel was killed when a .50 caliber Gatling gun mounted on the helicopter destroyed the room he was in. His father, Vinny, Sr., and his four brothers were also killed."

Tony stared, unblinking. His mind was a dizzying mess of images. Michel, killed? It couldn't be; could it? Nah. Michel? But in his heart, he knew it was true. The devastation that landed him in the ICU for three days had to have done more damage than just to him.

Michel: dead. Vincent: dead. Nicholas: dead. Frank: dead. Mario: dead.

Michel. Dead.

It sunk it, and as it did, he felt the oxygen in the room being sucked away.

And the others knew it was time to leave because they were witness to the labored breathing of a man whose mind was deep in emotional turmoil and who was desperately fighting to keep it from surfacing.

****************************************8

Tony sensed someone was in his room. From the lack of light, he figured it was nighttime, but exactly how far into the night it was, he had no idea. He remembered feeling sick, and he remembered a nurse coming in, and he remembered the warm, numbing sensation as the narcotic began flowing through his veins.

And now, he felt sluggish and his head felt thick, the tell-tale signs of a drug induced slumber. What was the last thing he remembered? Everyone was in his room, and then he had learned something. Something terrible. Something he didn't want to know. Or admit to. Slowly, it came back to him. Yes, his memory was returning. And then, one reality after another assaulted him: Michel was dead; Michel's brothers were dead; Michel's father was dead.

No, he didn't want to know that, much less remember it.

He thought he saw his boss' silhouette against the window.

"Boss?"

Unsure of his friend's state of mind, Gibbs cocked his head.

"Gibbs?" Tony repeated, unsure if he was awake or imagining him.

Moving into the dim light, Gibbs answered, "Yeah, I'm here."

Seeing he was indeed seeing his boss and not mirage, he began, "I messed up. Again. I can't seem to _not_ screw up my assignments."

Gibbs moved to the foot of his bed.

"You didn't mess anything up, Tony."

"But… I did."

"You can hear me?"

Tony nodded slightly. He could hear, not well, but well enough.

Thankful, Gibbs wondered just how much he should say. He knew the reality and the reality was Tony would need time to heal, just like anyone else who had gone deep undercover on a long term operation and witnessed some pretty heinous stuff. "The FBI is waiting for you to be released so they can give you a medal."

Tony didn't respond.

"Fornell says the only problem they're having is deciding which of the four medals to give you."

"Michel's dead."

Gibbs looked at his agent, "I know."

"Michel's family is dead."

Gibbs locked eyes with him.

"Michel shouldn't be dead. He didn't deserve it."

Gibbs sat down on the bed, listening.

"He wasn't like the rest of them. He wanted to be a teacher."

At times like these, there was nothing that he could have said that would have made Tony feel better, so he listened.

"Who did it? Who was responsible?"

"The Guidinetti Family… Ahmed Abu-Wahib…The DiCarlo Family. Tony, they were all responsible."

Tony closed his eyes.

Gibbs continued, "The FBI picked up most them, and the CIA intercepted the terrorists' money. Abu-Wahib was killed in the attack."

A voice from the darkness said, "And so the snakes lost their heads."

Gibbs turned around and saw Fornell standing in the door way. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. Mind if I come in?"

Gibbs deferred to Tony, but Tony wasn't in any mood to be cordial.

Fornell looked down on the bruised face of the man he'd hand selected for one of the most dangerous missions the FBI had ever participated in. "You did one hell of a job, DiNotzo."

Tony looked at him. He wasn't angry, he just wanted to turn back the hands of time, do things differently.

Fornell leaned closer to Gibbs and said, "He still can't hear?"

"I can hear you," Tony said. "The ringing's gone, and you're voice sounds different, but I can hear if you talk slow."

Fornell straightened and said, "There's a ceremony on hold for you. A lot of people want to recognize your hard work."

"Is it over?" Tony asked.

Fornell heard the pain in the man's voice and wished he could say something that could take it away, but there was nothing to say after an operation like this. He'd seen it before in undercover agents who'd done their jobs so damn well that it left them an emotional wreck. He leaned against the window sill and waited for Gibbs to say something.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered, "it's over."

Tony scratched his head. He wouldn't allow this case to get inside him. He couldn't allow it. He knew what he had gotten himself into, and he was a good agent. And good agents don't let themselves get personally involved. He had to let it go before it did irreparable damage.

"Okay," he tried to make himself sound strong, convey a message of strength, but he heard himself with his owns ears, as bad as there were, and he knew he sounded anything but convicted.

Tony didn't see them leaving, but the next time he opened his eyes, the room was empty and darker. He must have fallen asleep again. Or a more likely scenario, he was once again pumped up with medications that more or less rendered him unconscious. In a way, he was thankful for the reprieve, at least it staved off that feeling of profound loss that lingered on his brain like he'd just learnt the news.

He knew what he had to do. In order to move on, he had to admit to himself his role in Michel's death. He had to mourn the loss of Michel, just like he had mourned the loss of Jeanne Benoit.

He felt a tear stream down his face, and he felt another piece of his heart shrivel up and die.

*****************************8

The bullpen was unusually quiet given that all desks were occupied. McGee had gotten used to the quiet while Tony was recuperating, but now, since he'd returned, it didn't seem right. He caught Gibbs sending furtive glances Tony's way, which was a clue the quiet didn't seem right to him either. Even Ziva kept looking over her desk at Tony, but, unlike Gibbs, she wasn't nearly as subtle. Of the three of them, she was the one most likely to say something as patience was not her strong suit, and Gibbs knew that, which is why McGee suspected he was waiting for her to attack the problem head-on.

"Tony?" Ziva said, interrupting the silence.

McGee smiled to himself and thought, _'Aww, how well I know these people. Maybe, I should write a book…'_

Tony lifted his eyes towards her.

His face was no longer bruised and the cuts and abrasions had healed long ago, but there was an emptiness to his eyes.

"What?"

"You are not talking and that is unusual. Are you bothered by something?"

Tony tilted his head, wondering just where he should start on the long list of crap that was bothering him. Instead, he decided to give his usual answer, "I'm fine."

"No, you are not. Especially when you say 'I'm fine,' I know you are not fine."

Semi-amazed at his colleague, he lifted his shoulders and asked, "Where does your logic come from?"

"You, of all people, should know that when someone says 'I'm fine' then they are not really fine. They are really saying, 'I am not fine but I do not want to talk about it."

Gibbs admired her thought process and it showed on his face as a smile crept slowly across his lips. If nothing else, she knew Tony. Tim was glad that Ziva was taking him on this way, allowing him to sit back and enjoy the show.

Tony leaned back and shook his head. "Sometimes, Ziva, doesn't your brain just hurt your head?"

"Not at all. Now, back to my question, are you bothered by something? Maybe your leg? Being in a cast can be awkward. Not to mention using those crutches. I know something is bothering you today, and I want to help."

Tony narrowed his eyes slightly, staring her down. If he wasn't in a cast, he might have pushed back from his desk and walked over to her. He would have leaned down in front of her and said what was on his mind. But he had to content himself with just leaning forward on his own desk. "As a matter of fact, there is something that's been bothering me."

Feeling vindicated, she smiled and nodded her head, "Go ahead, you can talk to me about it."

"Well, I have a memory of you—naked—in my bed with me."

Ziva snapped up straighter and lost her smile.

Tony continued, "Now, it's a fuzzy memory, but I do remember feeling your warm skin against mine. Of course, it could have all just been a dream…but it seemed so real."

Ziva bit her lower lip, wondering how in the world he'd remembered that. "It must have been a dream," she hissed, looking around her to make sure no one was listening. "I resent that you are dreaming of me that way!"

"No," Tony said, shaking his head and remembering, "now that I think about it, I don't think it was a dream. I remember that you snuggled up against me…"

"—You remember wrong!"

"I don't think so….McGee, can you pull the tapes from the hotel stay? I could have sworn that you crawled into my bed—"

"McGee! If you value your life, you will not pull anything!"

"McGee, who are you going to listen to?"

She hissed, "You were not supposed to know that! You were out cold!"

"Guess that tea stuff wasn't nearly as good as you thought."

Gibbs enjoyed the banter, but more importantly, he enjoyed the wave of relief that washed over him as he realized his agent was making his way back. He wasn't so naïve as to believe that Tony had emotionally healed from the whole ordeal, but he knew his agent was making headway. 'Baby steps,' as Abby would say, and if that's what it took, then he'd take the same baby steps with him until he had come to terms with the mission. And the next time Tony was deemed 'the perfect fit' for a mission, he'd come up with a plan to nix it, even if it meant shooting him.

He looked up in time to see Ziva throw a pen across the bullpen.

~Fini

Author's Note: Thanks to all who have read and commented. Admittedly, just trying to bring this story to an end was difficult for me. There were so many threads that could have been picked up, but like many of my stories, I get tired and need to just stop writing. Hats off to all who stayed with it to the bitter end. ~~Jasmine


End file.
